The Titteringtons of Northern Ireland

THE BELFAST NEWSLETTER,  TUESDAY MORNING, 28 DECEMBER, 1858

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London Correspondence, Saturday

You cannot expect a very long letter from me today, or indeed anything more than that original and stereo-typed congratulation “Many happy returns, &c., &c.”  In the first place, I have nothing to say, which perhaps you will accept as a good and sufficient reason for silence;  and secondly, even if I had any very exciting news to impart, I should be obliged to condense it, as we have only one post, today, and tempus est ludendi, as the schoolboys say, which, being translated  into the vulgate, may be taken for “plum-pudding time has arrived/”

What the weather is likely to be on Christmas Day is always a subject of speculation among the Cockneys.  A dry frosty day, that makes the fire burn brightly, and reddens the noses of small boys in the street, is generally considered the most acceptable.  The parks are then full  of pedestrians, and sliding on the ponds is the favourite amusement.  A warm dry day like the 25th of Dec. last year has a vivifying effect upon railway dividends, as brigades of Londoners flock to the country by the early trains, to visit pleasant farm-houses, where hearty welcomes and good cheer are sure to await the town mice.  But a day like this is very discouraging to the poor Cockney, who looks forward to Christmas Day as a brief but delightful period of relaxation.  The morning broke cold and raw, and about ten o’clock a thick drizzly rain began to descend.  To add to the discomfort, a heavy fog accompanied the drizzle, and the avalanche of ‘smuts’ became quite alarming.  At noon the fog cleared up, and the drizzle gradually developed itself into full grown rain, which descended without inter-mission throughout the day and seriously interfered with the personal comfort of all classes of her Majesty’s subjects, except the cab-men who generally manage to make a harvest out of the misfortunes of their fellow-creatures.  The London cab is a sort of refuging in all cases of desperate emergency.  If a man runs over an omnibus, or rather if an omnibus runs over a man, a cab is instantly hailed to take him to the hospital;  if a thief is apprehended by detective, he is popped into a cab and taken to the Police office;  if a run-away bankrupt or a rate-collector desires to evade justice, he hails a cab and makes for the railway station;  if a distracted husband finds that the partner of his joys, unmindful of his injunctions to the contrary, has flitted in his absence to Cremorne, he plunges into a cab and pursues her’  if a drunken sailor is to be hocussed and robbed, “lonely woman” assists him into a cab on the pretence of towing him into port;  and if a lady sustains the perplexing misfortune of dropping her crinoline in the street (as happened the other day in Regent Street), she seeks the friendly shelter of a cab from the jeers and laughter of a vulgar and usympathising crowd.  A wet-day to cabby is always a grateful prospect;  but a wet Christmas Day is a bonne bouche to be marked with a white stone.  Whether cabby’s quadruped shares in his exultation is another question.

In London everybody who hasn’t somebody to dine with them dines with somebody else, and as nobody lives within reach of an omnibus, it follows that everybody must take a cab.  This being an admitted fact, it follows in logical sequence that, as the number of people who dine out must be greatly in excess of the number of cabs to carry them, the cabs go at a premium.  Cabby can then make his own terms, and double and treble fare is generally the reward of his devotion in the public service.  Toda the cabs are flying all out in all directions, for the mud is literally ankle deep, and the rain of so insinuating a description, that umbrellas are pronounced to be worse than useless.

In the workhouses of the metropolis the inmates have an extra allowance of creature comforts, in the shape of beer, tea, and tobacco, while at the military and naval hospitals (Chelsea and Greenwich),the veteran defenders of the country are furnished with a double quantum of grog, in addition to sundry little gifts distributed upon Christmas morning.  A return published a day or two ago, by order of the Poor-law Commissioners with reference to the number of inmates in the workhouses of England Wales, on the first of the present month does not exhibit so gratifying a result as was expected.  It seems that the average decrease, as compared with the first of December last year, is little more than two per cent., exclusive of what is termed the “**inctuating poor” such as tramps, vagrants, and persons receiving casual relief from day to day.  Considering that during the month of December last the country was suffering from the severest financial crisis experienced since 1825, the poor returns excited no surprise;  but that the permanent pauperism of the empire should only be reduced two percent, after a lapse of twelve months.  In the face of reviving trade and renewed commercial enterprise, is certainly a discouraging and suggestive fact.

That trade should continue so dull at a moment when money “at call” commands only one or one and a-half per cent., is in itself a paradox.  A reference to the list of bankrupts and insolvents show that the number of persons compelled to apply for legal release from their liabilities has been for many months above the average.  The number of defaulters whose names are published to the world must not, however, be taken as affair representation of the true state of things.  At the office, of the Sheriffs of London and Middlesex, a larger amount of a business has been transacted during the last twelve months than has been known for twenty years.  When the under-Sheriffs and their myrmidons thrive, it stands to reason that somebody else must decay; on the same principle that, when the undertaker flourishes the rate of mortality must be high.   The names of no less than forty-three insolvents appear in the official list of yesterday;  and , curiously enough, nearly a third of the whole number are tailors!  One gentleman, whose real name is Benjamin Isaacs (slightly suggestive of a Hebrew descent), admits that he has adopeted the romantic nomenclature of “Charles Sinclair,” and describes himself as “artist, dramatist, professor of music, instruments, ventriloquist, areils flutinist, and residential manager of the “Cosmotheca Saloon!”  Perhaps some of your readers may be able to form an idea of this gifted individual’s avocation, but I confess I am unable to arrive at a correct definition of it.

I am sorry to tell you that the Antrim Rifles have proved themselves a very pugnacious corps of late.  On Friday evening they took it into their heads to “pitch into” a number of marines and artillerymen at Woolwich, and a general scrimmage ensued.  Brickbats were freely exchanged between the rival forces of her Majesty, and it soon became apparent that the former were far less damaged in the conflict than the craniums of the latter.  The “row” is described as having been at one time rather serious in its aspect;  but the military power, which should have interfered at once, and brought the men into barracks, at length came to the rescue, and tranquility was restored.  The fire of brick-bats, however, damaged a good deal of plate glass, and the Royal Antrim Rifles are, in consequence, rather unpopular in the town except among the glaziers who regard them as fine, high-spirited fellows, and infinitely superior to stupid marines and undemonstrative artillerymen.

A very curious case, illustrative of the tedious and costly game of litigation, is now presented in the case of Myers v. Sarl, an action in which a celebrated contractor has sued an equally celebrated silversmith for the amount of his account for building.  The defendant, It seems, disputes the quantity of materials used, and demands item by item, proof of the appropriation of  every hod and mortar and foot of deal in the accounts made out by his own surveyor, and admitted to be correct by his own architect!  As a jury could not possibly enter upon the details of so complicated an account, the judge ordered the case to be “referred.”  To “refer” a case, as your legal readers well know , is also to defer it, and increase the costs about ten-fold.  In the case, as your legal readers well know, is also to defer  it, and increase the costs about ten-fold.  In the case of Myers v. Sarl the arbitrator, after a fierce contest, struck off, the other day, an item of £4 18s., and when the inquiry was adjourned it was ascertained that the costs of  vthe sitting amounted to precisely 6s. 6d. per minute!  The squabble about the £4 18s. extended over five hours, and the costs of adjudicating must consequently have amounted to the handsome sum of £97 10s.   Deducting, therefore, £4 18s. from £97 10s., the parties were worse off by £92 12s. than when they commenced.  How the lawyers must have chuckled over that £4 18s. as they tied up their briefs and hurried home to dinner!