(From our Windmill Reporter.)
On Wednesday last, the Tide Surveyor of Customs* happened to be strolling down Queen Street, pondering probably on the great degeneracy of the present age, so far as regards the desire to drink grog without paying the duty, and whistling to himself the popular air of “Will Watch, the bold smuggler, that famed lawless fellow,” in whose days there were good chances afforded of an occasional prize: – on a sudden he saw a very suspicious case of brandy lying outside Mr Dowse’s door.
I have said that the case (in both senses) looked suspicious, but it would be difficult to say how. The wooden case bore a strong resemblance to a perfectly honest one, and the name of the benevolent “Clousseau” looked as if it was quite at home on it.
I have seen plenty of such cases, and assisted to empty them, but yet there was an indescribable something about this article that fixed the tide surveyor’s regards.
He turned away from it, and tried to walk in another direction, but it wouldn’t do, he found his face turning back over his shoulder, with all the irresistible curiosity of Lot’s wife. He shut his eyes and attempted to pass it, but this made matters worse; for not only was the real object still fixed upon the retina, but he now saw in addition that it was being borne on the shoulders of a huge fellow clothed in long boots, guernsey shirt, and a flannel night-cap; the unvarying uniform of “bold smugglers” from time immemorial.
This was horrible, but still he did not give way. He opened his eyelids to their utmost extension; and tried to stare the case out of countenance. At first this succeeded, and there was nothing strange in its appearance; but gradually he fancied he could make out the same suspicious look as before.
The case had been opened, and a small opening which still remained between the lid and the side, assumed the semblance of a rogue’s mouth smothering a laugh! It was just such a laugh as you might see struggling with the gravity of Mr W C Wentworth, when he read his own advertisement about the lottery.
It seemed to imply – in fact, to glory in it – that it was too deep to be “bowled out.” This was too much. Instantly the offensive case was seized. In vain the owner protested – in vain the spectators laughed; it was carried away in triumph as a contraband article. In a few minutes, however, it appeared that the scrutiny of the Sub-Collector resolved all suspicious circumstances into smoke. He examined the case – turned it upside down – peeped into it – read the honoured name of Clouzeau (sic) backwards and forwards; and, finally, declared that he saw nothing remarkable about it, and that it must go back to the owner! It is said that the Sub-Collector addressed his coadjutor with the following original observation –
“I see Queen Mab has been with you;
Sometimes she gallops o’er a lawyer’s nose,
And then he dreams of smelling out a suit!”
*The Tide Surveyor of Customs at the time was the indefatigable Mr Thornton, who saw duty-evaders everywhere. He was prone to making a lot of cases.
William Wentworth disposed of some property by lottery in 1849. His motives were questioned by both the Attorney-General of New South Wales, and his old print rival, the Sydney Morning Herald.
Moreton Bay and More 