Southern sentinel. [volume] (Plaquemine, Parish of Iberville [La.]) 1848-1858, 1855-09-15

| Peter knight ON q spree.
Peter Knight was found wandering in the
Fourteenth Ward The officer could not de-
termine whether he was intoxicated or crazy,
but, as he said he bad no home. he was taken
| in charge ss q vagrant. He had been travers>
| ing the streets, with folded arms, talking to
| himself in odd bits Of plays and poems. He
possessed facility of quotation equal to Rich.
| ard SwiveIler, Esq'r, but he was reckless
! about the exactitude Of his extracts, and jun.
bled up his authorities with as much confusion
as Captain Cutie himself. He seldom gay6
question right, but would break off in the@hid-
die and substitute some words of his own, or
e.tailing an irrelevant piece from some
strange author, or mix up half-a.dozen authors
with interpretations of his own, in an inextrica.
bic verbal jumble.
Clerk-Wmt's your name!
Prsoner-"Peter knight am native to the
msrrow.bone"-that's Shakespeare.
Clerk-Was you intoxicated yesterday!
Prisoner IT'S true. tis pity; pity tis, there isn't
the devil doubt of it"-that's Scott.
Clerk-Where did you get your iiquor'
Prisoner-.Wbere the bee sucks, there sucks
Peter knight all day. Thou base, inglorious
slave, thnks't thou / will reveal the noble
name of him who gave me wine! No Sie-ee,
Bob"-that's Beaumont and Fletcher.
Officer in whisper-If you don't tell you'll
have to 60 to Jail.
Prisoner-I do remember an apothecary and
hereabouts hs dwells--no he don't, he lives
over in the bowery--but in his needy shop .
Goldfish hangs, and on bis sleeves beggarly
account of empty bottles; noting this penuy
10 myself, said, If any man did need brandy
punch, whose sale 10 fifty dollars fine in Goth
am, here lives 4 catiff wretch who has probably
got plenty fit under the counter. Why should
here conceal my fault! Wine ho! cried. The
call was answered. have no wine, said he,
but plenty of Whis--. Silence! thou pernicious
caitiff, quoth |; thou invisible spirit of wine,
since we can get thee BY no other name. why
let us call thee gin and sugar. He brought
the juice Of cursed juniper 10 . phial. and in
tho porches Of my throat did pour Udolph
Wolfe's distillmenk Thus was BY Dutch.
mans hand at once dispatched-not drunk nor
sober. sent into this dirty Station.H House three.
quarters tight with al my imperfsctions on
my head. The fellows name! My very soul
rebels. But whether il is nobler in the mind
to suffer the cuffs and bruises Of this bloody
Dutchman or to take arms sgainst bis red hair.
ed highness, and by informing end himl 20
and L 10 done. William, here at heaItl His
name, your Honor, b Bob Blssnoffkin IN ths
Bowery. That's Shakespeare mixed.
Clerk. Have you got honei
Prisoner. Ny homo b on The deep. deep
sea--that's Plutaseh's uvea
Clerk. How do you get your livingl
Prisoner. Doubt thou that the stars are on
Gre; doubt thou that the sun doth move; doubt
truth 10 b iias, but never doubt that I'll got
living while the oyster sloops don't have but
one watchman-that's Billy 8. again.
Clerk. Do You pay for your oystsfs3
Prisoner. Base 10 the s)ave that pays; the
speed Of thought il in my limbs--that's Byrop.
Clerk. Do you steal them and then run
away! IF
Prisoner. I've told thee ali, IN tell no more,
though ahort the story be; Let me 10 back
where l was before and I'll get my living with
out troubling tie Corporation Tom
Moor, altered to suit circumstances.
Justice (evidently at . loss, In whisper to
mysti6ed slerk). think he's erlky; what do
you think it's best to do with him!
Prisoner (overhearing). sOf with HE head;
20 much"-thst's Shakespeare curtailed.
Justics. Willyou promise to dispense with
the brandy and gin Il you are discharged!
Prisoner. o, should bs happy with either
wers 'tothss dear eharmer bottled up and the
cork put in-that's Dibdin, with vengeance.
Judge. What do ron suppose will become
Of You ifyou 60 on in shis way, living - you
have done!
Pfiscner-Alas, pook Yorick!-Peter,
mean. Who knows where hs will ny his
bonssf Few and short will the prayers be said,
and nobody1l feel any sorrow; but they 'llcram
him into bic clay Geld bed, and bury somebody
on the top ofhim tomorrow; the choir'Il sing
. hymn; earth dust to gravel, and that'll be the
last Of Peter knight.
Clerk-Peter. we'l have to send you up for
ten days.
Prisoner--Fare thee weli, and II for ever
III the better. That's Byron, revised and cor