The Sun.
London, England, 1859-12-28 00:00:00

r-J4_,„.- SUN, LONDON, WEDNESDAY EVENING, DECEMBER 28, 1859.

. --• .
OLICE

IYTELLIGENCE—Dec. 27.

MANSION-llOUSE.—Francis Mu'benne was
charged vvith assaulting Timothy. Collins.
The pr isoner, as he stood at the bar, shook and
shivered. as if from a sham palsy, and he was attired
in a coat and trousers, which hung about him in
tatters, and were secured to his waist by a rope.
The complainant, a boy of 14, said—l am a shoe-
black, and was in Crooked-lane yesterday afternoon
with my box, when the prisoner came up and asked
me to black his shoes. I told him there was so
much mud on 'em that they wouldn't shine,
and so I would rather not do 'em. With that he
ups with his foot and kicks me over, and when I
was on the ground he kicks me five or six times
more.

Mr. Goodman (chief clerk)—Was he as respect-
able then as he is now ?

Prisoner (interrupting)—Oh, yes, yer honour's
worship, quite as respectable. (Loud laughter.)
Complainant—He was just as he is now.
Mr. Goodman—Then I should think he might
have cleaned his boots himself. (Laughter.)
Prisoner—And so I would; but, yer honour,
where was I to get the brushes ?
Lord Mayor—Well, what have you to say ?
Prisoner—Oh, my lord, my lord, may it please
yer honour's worship, I'm a poor unfortunate boy,
and gets my living by singing, and yesterday, as
yer honour knows, was Boxing-day, so I togs my-
self out in my best—(roars of laughter)—and out I
goes to sing in the public-houses where my coun-
trymen goes.
Lord Mayor—You are Irish, I suppose ?
Prisoner—Of course, yer honour, and a Catholic
to boot, and (with a low bow) I wish yer honour
was as good a Catholic and friend to the Pope as I
am. (Roars of laughter.)
Lord Mayor—Well, never mind that now. The
Pope would not be very proud of his friend, I think,
if he could see the figure you cut now. What about
the assault on this poor boy ?
Prisoner—Och, by the powers, yer worship, I
was a coming to that like next Christmas—all in
good time. (Laughter.) I tell'd yer as how I
went out to sing in the publics. lVell, I got a
little drop with one and a little drop with another,
till I'm afraid I was drunk, yer honour. Well,
somehow I begun to think I didn't cut a very nice
figure, and I thought I would get my boots cleaned,
to make me look a little like what an Irish gentle-
man ought to be. (Renewed laughter.) So I went
to this boy to black my boots, and he wouldn't do
it, though I offered to pay him ; and being drunk,
I felt like an Irish gentleman and resented the in-
sult accordingly. (Loud laughter.) But now I'm
sober, yer honour, I'm very sorry for it, and if you
only let me go this time, I'll promise you here on
my bended knees, and swear by the Pope and all
the saints, never to drink another drop for six
months to come. (Dropping on his knees amid
loud laughter.)
Lord Mayor—l'm afraid you are a disgrace to
the saints and everybody else, or you would never
be dressed in that way.
Prisoner—Oh, don't say so, yer honour. There's
good blood in my veins, and I'll be a gentleman yet.
(Laughter.)
Lord Mayor—l believe the dress you have on
now is only assumed for a purpose.
Prisoner—No, on my honour—l swear, yer
honour—my lord. Devil a rag have lat home or
anywhere else, except what I've on now, and they
wouldn't hang together if it wasn't for these strings.
But, yer honour, I've been locked up all night in a
very cold cell, and if you'll let me go now, I'll swear
to you on my bended knees to keep sober ever-
more, and make myself truly respectable.
(Laughter.)
Lord Mayor (to complainant)—Dili he hurt you
much ?
Complainant—Well, not very. mush. Don't be
hard with him, my lord, it's Christmas time.
Lord Mayor—l am afraid, prisoner, you are a dis-
reputable fellow, but as he says you did not hurt
him much, I shall discharge you ; so take care you
do not come here again, or if you do come, let it be
in a more decent trim. There, be off.
Prisoner (falling on his knees)—Oh, thanks, yer
worship, thanks on my beaded knees. Yer a rale
gentleman, and no mistake, and I hope I shall
meet you in Heaven.
This sally was received with a loud burst of
laughter all round the court, while a voice from the
crowd cried out with true festive joviality :—" By
the powers, honey, you must jist put on a claner
coat before they'll let yerself in there at all events,"
and the prisoner appeared to relish the joke exceed-
ingly.

GUILDHALL.—TURNING THE TABLES.—Mar-
tin Lang, a smart-looking young man, was charged
before Sir It. W. Carden and Alderman Copeland
with deserting from the 2d battalion of Scotch
Fusilier Guards.
James Robeits, a fancy box-maker, of London-
wall, said the prisoner deserted from the Scotch
Fusilier Guards in 1853, since which he has been
ix India, and recently claimed his discharge upon
the transfer of the Government of that empire from
the East India Company to the Crown. He arrived
about a month ago, since which he has been living
with me. _ .

Sir B. W. Carden—ls he any relation to you P
Roberts—No, sir; but his sister keeps my house
for me. .

.._
Sir IL W. Carden—Then, why did you give him
into custody ?
Roberts—To save him from ruin.

Alderman Copeland—l suppose all his money
was gone.
Roberts—l beg to say that he spent all his money
before he came to me.

Sir R. W. Carden—Then what was your object
in giving him into custody after having him in
your house for a month ?
Roberts—He was only 21 days with me. He
was going to disgrace his family and me as well as
himself, and I considered it an act of charity to
give him into custody.
Sir R. W. Carden—ln what manner was he
about to disgrace you ?
Roberts—He was going to take service as a pot-
man. (Laughter.)
Sir R. W. Carden—And so you think it would
be disreputable to be a potman ?
Roberts—Certainly, sir, for he ought to be a sol-
dier, and in mercy to him I determined to save him
from himself.

Sir R. W. Carden—Which do yoi think is more
praiseworthy—to get an honest living as a potman,
or to resort to a more precarious and doubtful means
to preserve existence ?
Roberts—His father and his brother were sol-
diers, and he has been brought up at Chelsea Col-
lege for a soldier, and he is only fit for a soldier.
Sir R. W. Carden—And you thought it discredit-
able to you that your housekeeper's brother should
be a potman. I can only say that his conduct in
desiring such employment is more creditable to him
than yours is in giving him into custody on such
a pretence.
Prisoner—l wish to explain that I enlisted in the
Scotch Fusilier Guards in 1847, and deserted in
1853, after which I again joined the army: I have
been all through the Indian campaign.
Alderman Copeland—Have you a medal ?
Prisoner—No, sir; I am entitled to one with two
clasps, as I was at the capture of Jhansi, and have
been in eight different engagements ; but the me-
dals are not yet ready for delivery. When I came
home, about a month ago, I found wy sister, as I
thmight, married to this 'tan ; but a few days ago
I discovered she was living with him merely as a
kept woman, and I, therefore, took her away, and
it was for that reason he gave me into custody.
Roberts—l acted as I have done for his own
good. My character will bear investigation, as the
officers in the court can prove.

Alderman Copland—l can only wonder at the
assurance with which you come here and preach
about the morality, charity, and mercy which have
actuated you in this matter, when it appears that
your conduct is so bad that I can hardly find words
to express my opinion of it.
Roberts—lt is nothing of the kind, sir. I am his
best friend, if he only kew it. (Laughter.)
Alderman Copeland—lt appears from your own
admissions that you had him three weeks in your
house, knowing he was a deserter, but you do not
give him into custody until you find he has rescued
his sister from the life of prostitution in which you
desired to keep her.
Sir R. IV. Carden—You were indignant at the
idea of his accepting what you deeme the "vul-
gar" employment of a potman ; but were you
will-
ing to keep him until he could get into something
suitable to your own notions of respectability ?
Roberts—Oh dear, certainly not.
Sir R. W, Carden—Then what did you think he
was to do for a living ?
Roberts—l wished him to get a situation as a
porter, or something of that kind. (Laughter.)
Sir It. W. Carden—Oh, I thought your ambition
on the prisoner's behalf aimed at something higher.
However, as you do not feel inclined to keep the pri-
soner, I think it possible we may be able to keep you.
Roberts—lndeed. You think so ?

Sir It. W. Carden—Yes. you have rendered your-
self amenable to the laws for harbouring the pri-
soner, knowing him to be a deserter.
Roberts here entered upon a most elaborate apo-
logy, but after floundering about in a labyrinth of
words, at length broke off abruptly.
Sir R. W. Carden—l shall hold you to bail in the
sum of £5 to appear when called on, and I will take
care to communicate to the authorities at the War-
office, and recommend that you be prosecuted under
the Mutiny Act for harbouring a deserter.
Alderman Copeland—And you may think your-
self exceedingly fortunate that Sir It, Air, Carden has

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dealt so leniently with you. I should have ordered '
you to find heavy bail in securiti©s besides your own
recognisances.
Sir R. W. Carden (to the prisoner)—Are you.
willing to rejoin your regiment ?
Priscnor—l am anxious to do so, sir. The regi-
ment is at present quartered at the Wellington
Barracks. •

Sir R. W. Carden—l am sorry lam obliged to
detain you, but in communicating with the War-
office I will take care and place your position in the
most favourable light possible.
The prisoner was then sent off in custody to the
Wellington Barracks.

BOW-STREET.—Margaret Glynn, a woman of
about 30 years of age, of bloated countenance and
slatternly attire, was brought up on a warrant,
issued at the instance of a man named Levy, with
whom she has lived for a period of nearly 12 years,
charging her with an aggravated assault on one of
their children, Sarah Levy Glynn, aged 10 years.
The poor child's head was covered with bruises,
and the right side of her face, neck, and body, were
frightfully scalded.
She pleaded not guilty.
The child having been questioned as to her know-
ledge of the nature of an oath, and having replied
that if she told a lie the devil would have her, was
sworn in the usual manner. She deposed that, at
four o'clock on Christmas morning, she, with her
three little sisters, was in bed at her father's lodg-
ings in White Hart-street, when her mother, who
does not live there now, came in. Her mother was
angry with her for having failed to find a person to
whom she had been sent with a message overnight.
After pulling out a rail from a cloths horse, the
prisoner told witness to get up, as she was going to
beat her. The prisoner then beat her about the
head with a stick, and sung her inside the fender
against the fireplace so as to overturn a kettle full
of boiling coffee, which poured over her, scalding
her as above described.

Mary Burrell, a woman living in the adjoining
room, said that she heard the sound of the blow and
the screams of the child. She went to the door and
remonstrated with the prisoner, who bade her mind
her own business, and abused her in the foulest
terms.

David Levy, the child's father, said he had been
lately separated from the prisoner, by whom he had
four children. He allowed her 10s. a-week towards
their support, but they breakfasted with him, and
on Sundays stopped with him entirely. After this
occurrence he refused to let them return to her.
She had always ill-treated the children. This child's
body was covered with marks of old and recent in-
juries. Another child had two teeth knocked out
by the prisoner a few weeks back.
The prisoner reproached Levy with living on the
money she obtained by following the life of an un-
fortunate woman, which he denied with some
warmth.
Mr. Jardine said a man who lived with such a
woman need hardly be indignant at the imputa-
tion. But he had only to deal with the assault.
The prisoner said the child was telling falsehoods.
She had fallen against the kettle by accident, and
had not been beaten at all.

Mr. Jardine believed the child, who indeed was
partly corroborated. It was awful to contemplate
the sufferings of children so shamefully ill-treated
by their parents. It was not a case for leniency.
She must go to prison for three months.

MARYLEBONE.—Gnoss CASE OF CRUELTY TO
A lionsr.—John Dick, a carman, in the employ of
a person, whose name did not transpire, at a wharf
in Paddington, was charged, at the instance of Mr.
Love, chief officer of the Royal Society for the Pre-
vention of Cruelty to Animals, with cruelty to a
horse by working it when in such a bad state as to
be unfit for labour.

It appeared from the evidence of Sinclair aid
Sell, active officers of the society alluded to, that
on the same afternoon, at two o'clock, while in
Crawford-street, Bryanston-square, they saw the
horse, which was standing still at the time, attached
to a well-filled slop cart ; the poor animal seemed
restless and was evidently in pain, and one of its
feet was lifted off the ground. It was examined,
and it was then ascertained that the hoof was nearly
eaten away with a disease called the canker. They
moved the horse and found that it was unable to go
along except upon three legs, the other being en-
tirely useless. The prisoner who had left the horse
and vehicle, and was drinking in a public-house,
on being asked how he could have brought
the horse out in such a condition, said he knew it
was bad, and that if he had not brought it out some
other man would have been emplcyed to do so.
Mr. Broughton went to the front entrance of the
court to examine the horse, and on his return said
it was a very bad case. The owner was not before
him ; if he had. been he should have inflicted a
heavier penalty than he should do now upon the
man charged before him. The society had been
established for a most humane and praiseworthy
object, arta was aupported by the fire! nobility and
gentry of the land. Its officers had acted very
properly in bringing forward such a case of cruelty,
and he fined the accused 205., or in default of pay-
ment 14 days in the House of Correction.

WORSHIP-STREET.—A CASE FOR SYMPATHY.
—The business at this court during this festive sea-
son is at present singularly deficient of interest.
Perhaps, therefore, a more fitting time could not be
chosen to mention a matter not altogether irrele-
vant, and which the worthy sitting magistrate, Mr.
Hammill, deems a proper one to meet the public
eye.
In consequence of the resignation of William
Alderman, who for many years filled the situation
of gaoler at this court, with the high approbation
of the magistrates and all who knew him—a resig-
nation arising from illness, under which he is yet
suffering; the Commissioners of Police appointed
as his successor to that office Charles Welch, who
entered on his duties on the Ist of August in the
present year, absented himself once or twice from
severe pains in the head, left finally on the 4th of
December, and died at his residence, No. 4, Holly-
street, North, Dalston, on the 16th. At an inquest
held on the body by Mr. Humphreys, the Coroner,
the following evidence of his medical attendant was
put in :
"The deceased Charles Welch applied to me
about six weeks since in a bad state of health gene-
rally, but complaining more especially of pains
in his head. He stated that he had not felt well
since having been severelyhurt with his truncheon
by a thief whom he endeavoured' to apprehend in a
garden one night while on special duty. Welch
was seen by Dr. Jefferson, of Finsbury-square, in
consultation with myself, when we both agreed hat
the sufferer was dying from an affection of the brain,
caused by injuries of a lengthened date. He was,
during the time I attended him, occasionally deli-
rious, had contraetion of the muscles of the eyelid,
and loss of vision in the left eye, the pupil being in-
sensible to light. I was then of opinion that an
abscess had been gradually accumulating on the
right side and near the middle of the base of the
brain, which, by pressure on the optic nerve cross.
ing the right to supply the left eye, occasioned the
loss of vision in that eye ; that the matter would
accumulate and press upon the origin of the nerves
of respiration, and so cause death. The patient
died on the 16th of December, and on making a
post mortem examination, I found the remains of
several severe wounds on the head—cicatrices. The
whole surface of the brain was highly congested; there
was a small spiculuin of bone, about the size of a
barleycorn, sticking from the suture or seam of
base of the skull into the membrane of the brath,
causing a small abscess, which extended forwards
and upwards to the root of the optic nerve, press-
ing upon which was a small tubercle about the size
of a pea. I produce the abscess, the spike of bone;
and the optic nerve. From the wounded edges of
the bone, as also from the cartilaginous or dristly
matter thrown up like a wall or sheath to save the
brain and repair the terrible injury, I am of opinion
it has been of very long standing.
(Signed) " JOHN GODFREY, M.D.,
"33, Finsbury-square."
The circumstance that gave rise to the injuries thus
deposed to should be narrated, in justice to the me-
mory of one who, beyond doubt, was a zealous and
efficient officer. Cha.rles Welch joined the V divi-
sion of police, stationed at Chelsea, in 1853, at
which period he was a powerful man. On the night
of the 26th of February, 1856, while on special
duty in Ryder-street, Chelsea, he captured a thief
named James Amos at the rear of some houses, and
was severely beaten about the head by the ruffian
while endeavouring to get him over a wall. Amos
escaped for the nonce, but was ultimately appre-
hended, and fully committed by Mr. Arnold for
trial, on the twofold charge of felony and assault.
The truncheon of Welch was found covered with
blood and human hair—that being the weapon
with which the wounds, twelve in number, had
been inflicted en the poor fellow's head. From that
date he was an altered man. Spare in habit, re-
served in manner, and manifestly suffering at times
ahceuadteraegnoze.d
hAimlairngeeaspNe
avbllg on n
elinef
weaoriengsitde of his
the
ensual
police hat, and the Commissioners ordered one of
lighter construction to be made for him. Eventually
his
brother officers. His death leaves a widow unpro-
e
vided for, for the situation ho filled for so brief a
and, d7aass'iraish is stated,fo rai earpppoosiiht Lend, hadgaa gaoler
re
a t
respect this
court,
ienrgn
ethat
n a
mwe
lhyi c, h she
about
£2O, collected on all such occasions by a subscrip-
wpeoruialdd, hadde debars a
he
se
remained her from r
in eceiving e
f,
worthy por-
tion from each constable in the metropolitan police
of one penny. He would also have been buried at
the expense of the Commissioners, whereas that
final cost hue fallen 00. a. his

son, and gaoler of the police-court, Marlborough-
street.

WANIIStirMITTI.—BOXING-NTGIrT SPOILT'S.—
James Clyde, a Ilyman, living at Chiswick, was
placed in the dock before Mr. Ingham, charged
with being drunk and incapable of taking care of
a horse and brougham. There was also a second
charge against him with causing serious damage to
a horse and cab, the property of Mr. George Pum-
mell, a cab proprietor, of Kensington.
Frederick Mayhew, a driver in the service of Mr.
Pummell, stated that on Monday night he was
' driving home Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence, of High-
street, Kensington, along the Hammersmith-
bridge-road, Barnes, from Mortlake, when the pri-
soner came in a contrary direction with a horse
and brougham, and drove against him. Witness
wag on his right side.

Mr• Ingham—At what rate was the prisoner
driving ?
Witness—About six miles an hour, your wor-
ship. He was asleep on the box.
Mr. Ingham—Well, what rate were you driving?