The Sun.
London, England, 1834-01-25 00:00:00

INSOLVENTS' COUR l', DUBLIN, J. 16.

THE WIDOW AND HER WITNESS.
" The current of true love did ne'er run smooth."

Darby O'Gara, one of the great O'Garas at the
Atlantic side of the Shannon, and great was he in
truth, both in quality and quantity, stood for-
ward upon being called upon by the crier.
Clerk—Mr. O'Gara, is this your schedule, name,
and handwriting ? Gara—" Darby O'Gara," re-
plied he, viewing the paper cursorily, " and sure
enough it is, and a genteel bit of a schedule any
how, especially at the lift side of the page, your
Worship."

Darby was right, for, upon being exhibited, the
schedule disclosed a scene of industry and activity
that was peculiarly entertaining, of small sums, but
to no less a total than 1,250/. 4s. 31d., which, con-
sidering O'Gara's rank of life, " a perukier, or pe-
riwig maker," was not bad, any how ; whilst at the
contra hand space appealed, after a few " misfits,"
unsold for want of adaptation, &c., sufficient for a
full canto of Byron's " Child Harold." The major
part of the items, however, were sums due to the
widow Dickens, and which, for the theatrical effect,
were set down, not in gross, but in detachments,
according to their respective dates.

The CHIEF COMMISSIONER having inquired if any
one appeared in opposition to Darby O'Gara, barber
and peruke maker—the said widow Dickens,.a tidy,
&mute, butter-not-melt-in-mouth, simplex munditiis
looking " bit of a body," answered in the gentlest
and most subjugated tone, and scarcely raising an
eye-lash—" I do, your Worship."
COMMISsIONER—Mrs. Dickens, the Court is ready
to hear any grounds of opposition you have to urge.
What objection have you to—

Mrs. Dickens—Suffice it to say the man's an im-
postor; he—

O'Gara—Oh, widow, widow, how can you tell
such a confounded—

Clerk—Mr. O'Gara, you must respect the Court.
O'Gara—My Lord, I'm all respect, but its false
—that is—

Clerk (with the solemnity and deep tone of a
Speaker)—" Order, order."

-
- COMMISSIONER—Mrs. Dickens, proceed with your
statement.

Mrs. Dickens—Last May, your Worship, that
man (that fellow, I mean, your Worship), one
evening came to my house, which is just opposi'e
his shop—
O'Gara—Exactly furnent your Honour, to a T—.
Mrs. Dickens—And he asked could I lend him
such a thing as a fish-kettle ?

O'Gara—A pretty kettle of fish your speech will,
be, that's clear. " Dickens in you," as the song says.
Clerk—Silence; no interruption,
Mrs. Dickens—He said he was to have some
friends to dinner, having lately got a property in
Cuuningmara, I think it was, and that I'd for ever
oblige him, if I'd lend him my fish-kettle.
O'Gara—" Tunder an ages," and didn't I add
in the same breath, " and accompany it yourself;
it wouldn't be genteel, nor Irish-like otherwise, Mrs.
Dickens."

Mrs. Dickens—" Yes, your Worship, I did go
after much hesitation, and a dear dinner it turned
out."—(Half crying.)
COMMISSIONER—" But what has this fish-kettle
and dinner to do with the discharge of the in-
solvent ? There is no fish-kettle returned in the
schedule." Mrs. Dickens—" This, my Lord, was
the beginning of our acquaintance."
O'Gara—And a very genteel beginning it wv,
on my part, any how.
COMMISSIONER—So all this is but mere exordium.
Well, Mrs. Dickens? The widow then proceeded!
to state, that after some interchanges of visits, the
Hibernian, as our readers have ere now anticipated,
" popped the question," as he phrased it; on the
strength of which he took some liberties with her
purse-strings ; that everything proceeded smoothly
r
for a while, until she at last discovered (which she
could prove from undoubted authority), " that the
impostor was already married to a lump of a wench.
named Bridget Mahony."
O'Gara, at this sound, burst into an immoderate
a_fittatoillifoartit)b.. laughing;beats
tsßridget
sagyellingnentagl‘h
iai
orult 0
anynmosty,ing your
p lustily,"
°v
how--prove
c'
fm
aoel
authority's neck off."
Airs. Dickens—f claim the protection of the
Court lar my parrot—he'll swear an assault against
Mr. O'Gara.

CO3IMISSIONER—Your what ? Mrs. Dickens—
My parrot, your Worship—he can prove al; ! Poll.
" Pretty cred a parrot, perching upon the
shoulders of the widow.
The scene was here indescribably diverting and
ludicrous in the extreme—O'Gara bellowing "
—guider an ages—wirrustrue," and sundry Irish
eytculations of complaint and self-condolence—the
widow insisting upon Poli's evidence being received
—the bird chattering—while the Commissioners,
raiid the unire Court, were convulsed with
roars of laughter.
Finally the Commissioners, whose legal lore, how-
everadj Conveysotlrn L e the;' had
Court, no
teox tseenadrce conversant
:foo for precedents
"bird's"c‘%e,idt hen't.evidence,point.