The Sun. — 1834-08-14 (London, England)

POLICE INTELLIGENCE.  MANSION-HO USE. Owen Allen and Patrick Donovan were charged with having been ringleaders in one of those desperate rows which take place so frequently on Sunday mornings in the several Irish districts of the metropolis. Carthy, the landlord of the Black Horse public-house, in Petticoat-lane, stated that the defendants and three or four other persons walked into his house at nine o'clock on Sunday evening last, and after having drank and paid for three pots of beer, which, together with what they had " lushed" before, disguised them all, requested to have a fourth pot of heavy upon "tick." Witness refused, as lie saw the party were far gone in liquor, and Allen retaliated for the unkindness by heaving the heavy upon the floor. Witness, suspecting that this was the regular forerunner of a row, called in a watchman, who went to work in earnest, but was checked in his impetuosity by Allen, who jumped upon a settle for the purpose of jumping more effectually upon the body of the new and unwelcome visitor, a feat which he accomplished in such a manner that the guardian of the night was supposed to have given up his charge for the regions of eternal day. All the rest of the Irish then got into the hubbub, and murder must have been committed if the metropolitan police had not joined in the endeavour to prevent mischief ; kicking, stamping, biting, throttling, breaking noses in two, murdering, and knocking lightning out of the eyes were the ingredients of the night's entertainment. The LORD 11LtY0R—The landlord was the immediate cause of all this. He did as the publicans of London are not in the habit of doing. He poured down the throats of his customers all that was calculated to intoxicate, and was only checked by the absence of cash. If they had more money, more liquor would have been produced. The prisoner Donovan—Plase your Lordship, as God is my judge, Allen was as drunk as a lord, and did nothing in the world but tumble down neck and crop. I said nothing but don't kill the poor boy, and that was the very reason they done it.  . The LORD MAYoa—Why he is not quite dead yet. Donovan—But, please your Honour, he was as dead as a nit ; v;Tarn't you, Owen, jewel ? Allen—ln truth I was, Paddy. They knocked me senseless, and then they began to murther all the rest of us. The devil a fut I stirred until I found myself in the watchhouse, and thin the divil a fut I could stir, for they tied me up 'together like a wisp of straw. A watchman of Portsoken Ward having heard murther was going on in Petticoat Lane, went down to put a stop to it ; but just as he walked into the house he was met by an Irish kick in the face, which flattened his nose, and be actually felt his eyes fly into the back of his head. He was blowed if ever he got such a whack since lie was born. Well, though he was a watchman, and had orders to look after the Ward, he did not know where he was till he got another kick, but as that was at the back of his head, he supposed it brought him to his senses ; so up he got, and he went to the door, called to the police, and he returned to put an end to the riot, but he got another Irish pelt that made him feel as though he hadn't a bit of mouth upon him, and then all the Irish danced upon his body until it was almost on a level with the floor.—(Great laughter.)  Donovan—l didn't dance upon him, for my hand, please