Timothy Blunt, in his defence, assured their worships that he was "a real _bony fidy_ excise officer; and that things were gotten to sich a pitch throughout the nation in the smuggling of _bandannies_, that he and his brother _off'sirs_ had strict orders to seize them wheresoever they lighted upon them--whether in pocket or on neck." "Let me see your authority," said the magistrate. "I knows of no law to obleege me to show it," said the sententious Timothy.--"I seizes the bandannies for the king and his _revenny_, and if I'm wrong, why let the king look to it. Besides, that ere authority cost me a matter of five pounds nineteen shillings; and I should be a fool to put it in _jipperdy_ by showing it to every man what asks for it!" The magistrate immediately committed him to take his trial for _stealing_ the bandanna; but nevertheless he marched off to gaol upon excellent terms with himself. A DISTRESSED FATHER. Henry Newberry, a lad, only thirteen years old, and _Edward Chidley_, aged seventeen, were full committed for trial, charged with stealing a silver tea-pot from the house of a gentleman, in Grosvenor Place. There was nothing extraordinary in the circumstances of the robbery.--Young Newberry was observed to go down into the area of the house, whilst his companion kept watch, and they were caught endeavouring to conceal the tea-pot under some rubbish in the Five-fields, Chelsea; but the case was made peculiarly interesting by the unsophisticated distress of Newberry's father. The poor old man, who it seems had been a soldier, and was at this time a journeyman paviour, refused at first to believe that his son had committed the crime imputed to him, and was very clamorous against the witnesses; but as their evidence proceeded, he himself appeared to become gradually convinced. He listened with intense anxiety to the various details; and when they were finished, he fixed his eyes in silence, for a second or two, upon his son, and turning to the magistrate, with his eyes swimming in tears, he exclaimed-- "I have carried him many a score miles on my knapsack, your honour!" [Illustration] There was something so deeply pathetic in the tone with which this fond reminiscence was uttered by the old soldier, that every person present, even the very gaoler himself, was affected by it. "I have carried him many score miles on my knapsack, your honour," repeated the poor fellow, whilst he brushed away the tears from his cheek with his rough unwashed hand, "but it's all over now!--He has _done_--and--so have I!"