“Aye!  I always told the old reprobate so,” interposes Madam Ashley, with great fervor.

“A charge,” resumes the Judge, “quite sufficient to warrant me in committing you to durance vile, might be preferred.  You may thank my generosity that it is not.  These houses, as you know, Mr. Patterson, are not only dangerous, but damaging to men of potent morality like you.”

“But, your Honor knows they are much frequented,” meekly drawls the parson.

“It affords no palliation,” sharply responds the Judge, his face crimsoning with blushes.  “Mark ye, my friend of the clergy, these places make sad destruction of our young men.  Indeed I may say with becoming sincerity and truth, that they spread a poison over the community, and act as the great enemy of our social system.”

“Heigh ho!” ejaculates Madame Ashley, to the great delight of the throng assembled, “Satan has come to rebuke sin.”  Madame bids his Honor a very polite good morning, and takes her departure, looking disdainfully over her shoulder as she disappears out of the door.

Not a little disturbed in his equanimity, the Judge pursues his charge.  “The clergy ought to keep their garments clear of such places, for being the source of all evil, the effect on the community is not good-I mean when such things are brought to light!  I would address you frankly and admonish you to go no more into such places.  Let your ways merit the approbation of those to whom you preach the Gospel.  You can go.  Henceforth, live after the ways of the virtuous.”

Parson Patterson thanks his Honor, begs to assure him of his innocence, and seems only too anxious to get away.  His Honor bows to Mr. Patterson, Mr. Patterson returns it, and adds another for the audience, whereupon the court adjourns, and so ends the episode.  His Honor takes Mr. Snivel’s arm, and together they proceed to the “most convenient” saloon, where, over a well-compounded punch, “the bench and the bar” compliment each other on the happy disposal of such vexatious cases.

CHAPTER XXVII.

The house of the nine Nations, and what may be seen in it.

On the corner of Anthony street and the Points,

Now Worth street and Mission Place. in New York, there stands, like a grim savage, the house of the Nine Nations, a dingy wooden tenement, that for twenty years has threatened to tumble away from its more upright neighbor, and before which the stranger wayfarer is seen to stop and contemplate.  In a neighborhood redolent of crime, there it stands, its vices thick upon its head, exciting in the mind of the observer its association with some dark and terrible deed.  On the one side, opens that area of misery, mud and sombre walls, called “Cow Bay;” on the other a triangular plot, reeking with the garbage of the miserable cellars that flank it, and in which