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Updated: May 7, 2025
That same afternoon, the man who had been her husband, having got drunk in a public-house, with the money which he had received for her, quarrelled with another man, and receiving a blow under the ear, fell upon the floor, and died of artiflex; and in less than three weeks I was married to Mary Fulcher, by virtue of regular bans.
Fulcher," he said, "can no more return to Nature than he can enter a second time into his mother's womb and be born." He walked up and down the little office excitedly, while he drew for Jewdwine's benefit an unattractive picture of the poet as babe, drinking from the breasts of the bounteous mother. "You can't go for ever hanging on your mother's breasts; it isn't decent and it isn't manly.
I was to go with young Fulcher, and steal some fine Morell cherries, which grew against a wall in a gentleman's garden; so young Fulcher and I went and stole the cherries, one half of which we ate, and gave the rest to the old man, who sold them to a fruiterer ten miles off from the place where we had stolen them. The next night old Fulcher took me out with himself.
They used to make baskets during the day, and thieve during a great part of the night. I had not been with them twelve hours before old Fulcher told me that I must thieve as well as the rest.
Old Fulcher being in the neighbourhood, and having an order from a fishmonger for a large fish, which was wanted at a great city dinner, at which His Majesty was to be present swore he would steal the carp, and asked me to go with him.
"This was the last larceny old Fulcher ever committed. He could keep his neck always out of the noose, but he could not always keep his leg out of the trap. A few nights after, having removed to a distance, he went to an osier car in order to steal some osiers for his basket-making, for he never bought any. I followed a little way behind.
The next step was that somebody who was paying for the boy's doctor's bills paid also for the publication of his poems. Therein were the last sweet pipings of the pastoral Fulcher. No other hand but Jewdwine's, as Jewdwine sorrowfully owned, could have done anything for this work, and he meant to have devoted a flattering article to it in the next number.
I submit it to the better judgment of the Romany Rye, who I see is a great hand for words and names, whether he ought not to have been called old Filcher, instead of Fulcher. I shan't give a regular account of the larcenies he committed during the short time I knew him, either alone by himself, or with me and his son. I shall merely relate the last.
I then embarked in the horse line. One day, being in the market on a Saturday, I saw Mary Fulcher with a halter round her neck, led about by a man, who offered to sell her for eighteen- pence.
They found a little group of men there with a gun or so the two Fulchers were among them and one man, a stranger from Maidstone, stood out before the others and watched the place through an opera-glass. These men turned about and stared at Redwood's party. "Anything fresh?" said Cossar. "The waspses keeps a comin' and a goin'," said old Fulcher. "Can't see as they bring anything."
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