on the following morning found Mr. Adolphus Casay at the bedside of the violently-snoring and stupidly obfuscated Brown Bunkem.  In vain he pinched, shook, shouted, and swore; inarticulate grunts and apoplectic denunciations against the disturber of his rest were the only answers to his urgent appeals as to the necessity of Mr. Brown Bunkem’s getting ready to appear before the magistrate.  Visions of contempt of court, forfeited bail, and consequent disbursements, flitted before the mind of the agitated Mr. Adolphus Casay.  Ten o’clock came; Bunken seemed to snore the louder and sleep the sounder.  What was to be done? why, nothing but to get up an impromptu influenza, and try his rhetoric on the presiding magistrates of the bench.

Influenced by this determination, Mr. Adolphus Casay started for that den of thieves and magistrates in the neighbourhood of Bow-street; but Mr. Adolphus Casay’s feelings were anything but enviable; though by no means a straitlaced man, he had an instinctive abhorrence of anything that appeared a blackguard transaction.  Nothing but a kind wish to serve a friend would have induced him to appear within a mile of such a wretched place; but the thing was now unavoidable, so he put the best face he could on the matter, made his way to the clerk of the Court, and there, in a low whisper, began his explanation, that being “how Mr. Brown Bunkem”—­at this moment the crier shouted—­

“Bunkem!  Where’s Bunkem?”

“I am here!” said Mr. Adolphus Casay; “here to”—­

“Step inside, Bunkem,” shouted a sturdy auxiliary; and with considerable manual exertion and remarkable agility, he gave the unfortunate Adolphus a peculiar twist that at once deposited him behind the bar and before the bench.

“I beg to state,” commenced the agitated and innocent Adolphus.

“Silence, prisoner!” roared the crier.

“Will you allow me to say,”—­again commenced Adolphus—­

“Hold your tongue!” vociferated P74.

“I must and will be heard.”

“Young man,” said the magistrate, laying down the paper, “you are doing yourself no good; be quiet.  Clerk, read the charge.”

After some piano mumbling, the words “drunk—­abusive—­disorderly—­incapable—­taking care of self—­stretcher—­station-house—­bail,” were shouted out in the most fortissimo manner.

At the end of the reading, all eyes were directed to the well-dressed and gentlemanly-looking Adolphus.  He appeared to excite universal sympathy.

“What have you to say, young man?”

“Why, your worship, the charge is true; but”—­

“Oh! never mind your buts.  Will you ever appear in the same situation again?”

“Upon my soul I won’t; but”—­

“There, then, that will do; I like your sincerity, but don’t swear.  Pay one shilling, and you are discharged.”

“Will your worship allow me”—­

“I have no time, sir.  Next case.”