Twenty Years' Recollections of an Irish Police Magistrate. Frank Thorpe Porter
the same time a silver snuff-box, on which a crest was engraved, with the initials of Marmaduke Wilson beneath it. The servant had returned, and accompanied his master through the warerooms, conducted by the proprietor, who succeeded in displaying tea services, salvers, &c., which met with Captain Wilson's approval, provided the prices were lower. The demands were reduced considerably, as the customer urged that it was a dealing for "cash down." The charges amounted to one hundred and forty pounds, when the Captain said "he would not go any further for the present," and requested Mr. West to have the plate packed in a basket which the servant had brought, in order that Mrs. Wilson might see the articles before the crests were altered. The silver was directed to be treated as he desired, and he then turned to Mr. West and said, "You must be my amanuensis, and write the order to Mrs. Wilson for the cash. I shall send my man for the money, and when he brings it, you will let him have the basket." Mr. West took the pen, and wrote, at the Captain's dictation—
"Dear Maria,
"I have bought some second-hand plate, of which, I think, you will approve. Send me, by bearer, £140."
He added—"Just put my initials, M. W. Is it not very curious, Mr. West, that our initials are the same?" He then took the pen in his left hand, and made a rough kind of small semicircle in the left-hand corner, which he designated his private mark. "Now," said he to the servant, "make all haste to your mistress, get the money, and fetch it here. I shall wait until you return, for you have not far to go." The servant departed, and the Captain remained for about twenty minutes, and seemed very impatient at the fellow's delay. He expressed an opinion that perhaps his wife had gone out, and said that he would take a car and see what caused the delay, adding, "When he brings you the cash you can let him have the hamper." The Captain then departed. The servant did not come for the plate, and it remained packed and ready for delivery on the arrival of the purchase money. Late in the afternoon Mr. West went home, and having dined, was asked by his wife, "What second-hand plate was it that you bought to-day?" "I bought none," he replied, "but I sold some, and it was to have been taken away at once, but I suppose it will be sent for to-morrow." "And why," enquired Mrs. West, "did you send to me for one hundred and forty pounds? Here is your note, which a servant in livery brought, and I gave him the money."
The swindle was complete. The basket was never called for, nor could the defrauded party ever obtain any trace of the Waterloo Captain or of his livery servant. The reader need not suppose that the veteran delinquent was minus an arm. He was "made up" for the part which he was to play in the deliberate and deeply-planned villainy, and in all probability he had both his hands in full use, to take off his moustache and frogged coat in a few minutes after leaving Mr. West's premises. The transaction excited much interest and some merriment. It afforded a subject for one of Burke Bethel's jokes. He said that whether the captain reappeared or not, he could never be designated otherwise than as off-handed in his dealings with Mr. West.
THE SILVER SLAB.
There was another Dublin establishment in the gold, silver, and jewelry trade, and also belonging to a Mr. West. It was in Capel Street. I may mention an incident connected with it of a very extraordinary nature. There were mills at Chapelizod, near Dublin, kept by a Mr. M'Garry, in which he had very powerful machinery for rolling metals. He was frequently employed to roll silver for Mr. West. In the year 1829, a silver slab, valued at £27, was delivered to his carrier at Capel Street, and the usual receipt was given for it. The slab was to be rolled into a silver sheet; but when the vehicle in which it had been placed arrived at Chapelizod, the article was not to be found. In appearance it was not bright, having lain in store for some time after being cast. Advertisements and enquiries failed to discover it, and Mr. M'Garry paid its value to the owner. In 1845, it was brought to a silversmith named Chapman, on Essex Quay, and offered for sale. Chapman stopped the article, and gave the bearer of it into custody. On an investigation before me, it appeared that a shoemaker who lived in Leixlip had found it on the road and taken it home with him. He never suspected that it was silver. He considered it to be pewter or zinc, and it was used for the purposes of a lapstone for sixteen years. How the person in whose possession it was found had ascertained its real quality did not appear, but he had purchased it from the shoemaker for half-a-crown. West's and M'Garry's books coincided as to the nature of the article, its value, and the time of its loss. The old slab was adjudged to M'Garry, who at once sold it to Chapman for the price he offered, £22. The shoemaker expressed deep, and certainly sincere regret that he had never suspected the real value of his lapstone. His only consolation was, that the roguish fellow who induced him to sell it for half-a-crown, lost two shillings and sixpence by the bargain.
LAW'S WINDOW.
Whilst shops profusely stocked with articles of the precious metals and with costly jewels attract affluent and even extravagant customers, they also afford immense temptations to thieves and swindlers. No establishment in Dublin was superior in any respect to that in Sackville Street belonging to Mr. Law. On each side of the entrance there was a window, consisting of a single sheet of glass, inside of which a most magnificent display of costly plate, gems, and watches tacitly demanded and obtained the admiration of all spectators. In the year 1847, and in the afternoon of a pleasant May day, an elderly gentleman stood at the window next the corner of Eden Quay, and gazed with delight on the various splendid and tasteful productions inside. He had an umbrella, which he carried beneath his arm in a horizontal position, and with the ferule end unluckily too near the costly sheet of glass. A young fellow came rapidly running along the footway, and violently jostled the respectable admirer of the splendid contents of the window. The glass was smashed by the point of the umbrella, and the mischief resulting from the collision only imparted greater celerity to the jostler's movements. He fled down Eden Quay, and was almost instantly out of sight. Mr. Law was in his shop, and along with some of his assistants seized on the proprietor of the intruding umbrella. The old gentleman demurred to the imputed liability, and ascribed all the mischief to the ruffian who had rushed against him. Law was persistent, and demanded nine pounds for his fractured glass. He threatened to give the old gentleman in charge to the police. The latter became very indignant and excited, used extremely strong language, and even applied opprobrious epithets to those by whom he was detained. He said that he was a stranger, just arrived from England, to transact some affairs of importance connected with the purchase of extensive properties in the west of Ireland. He warned Law that he would bring an action, and look for ample damages, if he were not permitted to depart. He stated his name to be James Ridley, and that his residence was in Lincoln's Inn Fields, London. Finding that Law was about to send for a constable, he produced a Bank of England note for £100, and told the "obdurate scoundrel" to take the cost of his window out of that, but at his peril. Law disregarded the threat, deducted nine pounds, and gave £91 to Mr. Ridley, who departed, vowing vengeance. However, no proceedings were instituted, and subsequent enquiries after James Ridley in Lincoln's Inn Fields resulted in no such person being known there. The £100 note was a forgery.
OLD NEWGATE.
Towards the close of the last century, a gaol for the city of Dublin was built, and its appearance had a great tendency to deter any person from incurring the liability of becoming an inmate. Its soot-begrimed walls and rusty portal completely falsified its designation of Newgate, and its front constituted a considerable portion of a locality, the aspect of which suggested no idea of verdure, although it was called Green Street. It was a place replete with fatal memories, very few of which are worthy of being evoked, and it has been completely taken down. The sons of the gentleman who was governor more than fifty years ago were my schoolmates, and my associations with them made me acquainted with some incidents which may be worthy of narration. When Oliver Bond was under sentence of death for treason; and whilst there was the strongest probability