knows the result), I foresee a return of all
my
old symptoms, and the necessity of
taking myself to some medicinal course in
order to restore "My Health."

A door is open on our left, and within I see a desk, two Clerks, and a Policesergeant, or some official higher than an ordinary Policeman, engaged in looking over a large ledger.

As an ingenious way of getting out of the crowd, I suggest our stepping into this office.

"Same as before," answers the latter, writing on a bit of paper, and handing it across to the Clerk, who inspects it, and observes that "It's all right."

Then the Inspector looks at the Clerk, and remarks that "Time's getting on;" then the Sergeant closes his ledger, locks it up, and putting a bunch of keys in his pocket, also remarks that "It is getting late;" whereupon the Clerk, shutting up his book, and coming out from behind his enclosure, caps the other two obser"Tell them you're a Barrister," my vations by saying forcibly that "It will Aunt whispers. I don't see what good be later afore we've done;" at which this would do; and if I did tell them, in witticism we, in our character of sycoa place like a Police-Court where every-phants, feel bound to smile, and do so acbody is suspected and suspicious, how am cordingly. I to prove it?

We step in. Nobody takes any notice of us, so I propose taking notice of somebody, just to account for our being there. I address the man, who looks like a clerk, affably, wondering what office he holds, and whether he is a Clerk or not. My Aunt impresses me strongly with the necessity of being civil-very civil-to these officials, as she whispers (she does nothing but whisper mysteriously in my ear), this may be of use to us, and perhaps (this is her leading idea), this young man may be the Magistrate's nephew. (It turns out afterwards that she once knew a Judge who made his nephew the Clerk of Arraigns, and she considers it the usual thing.) I say "good-morning" to the Clerk. I feel instinctively that my Aunt behind me is smiling on him, and I despise myself, and her, for fawning upon creatures in power: but I do it.

The Clerk nods.

"I suppose we may step in here till the Magistrate comes?" I inquire, still pleasantly. Fawning, both of us.

"Yes," answers the Clerk, carelessly. "Thank you, Sir," says my Aunt gratefully.

I am not sorry for this, as if the Cabman is outside in the passage, he may be attended by his sympathising friends, and the meeting might be unpleasant. We remain in the office, and we converse about nothing particular in whispers, until I begin to foresee a difficulty in regaining our natural tones.

A stout man buttoned up to the chin (an inspector probably), walks in. "Tomkins and Barker down?" the last-comer of the Sergeant.

asks

The ice being thus broken, I ask, on behalf of my Aunt, when our case will come on; at least, I explain (so as not to lead to future complications), "Not my case, but this lady's, my Aunt's;" this I add as if the Clerk had been my bosom friend for years, and I were introducing my relative to him.

do

"Name?" says he. I give the name. "It's down for No. two on the list." "It'll be taken after the night cases." When," ventures my Aunt, timidly, you think it will be heard ?" "Ah! can't say," returns the Clerk. "You see a message has just come down about Mr. Wigginthorpe's having met with an accident, and so Mr. Sharply will run up from t'other Court, when he's heard the cases down there."

"Good gracious !" exclaims my Aunt, "then if there are many cases at the other Court, mine mayn't be heard for hours."

"P'raps not," replies the Clerk, carelessly, and turns to speak to a friend who has dropped in to have a chat by the fire.

The Inspector corroborates the Clerk's statement. Mr. Sharply will be quick enough when he does come, but that may be in a quarter of an hour, or that very minute, or not for two hours yet.

The glorious uncertainty of the Law is on this occasion represented by Mr. Sharply.

"Perhaps," my Aunt thinks, "the Cabman will get tired of waiting, and then won't appear, after all."

This idea of tiring out the Cabman is a congenial one to my Aunt's mind, and if we could only have some luncheon, the morning would not hang so heavily on our hands, as, at present, it most certainly does.

We are becoming quite accustomed to | rail, and will be certainly out of place the Police-Office, and almost attached to with the Policeman in his private box its fire, when the Sergeant intimates, sotto (only licensed to hold one), I choose the voce, that if we like to sit down inside the pew where the Reporter is. Court until the Magistrate comes, he can let us in.

An hour passes in this lively manner. While animation, as it were, is being I think we all take to watching Old Pur- restored, Mr. Sharply observes, rapidly, kiss; if we flag at all in this interesting Gentlemen, I regret the accident that occupation, the Rum Lady nudges me, brings me here-I have a great deal of and nodding towards him, whispers, business in the other Court which I "That Purkiss!" fiercely. "Well," says haven't got through, and to which I must my Aunt, who is beginning to feel faint, return-Therefore, I am sure I may rely "I'd sooner have paid the man twice upon you, Gentlemen, to assist in pushing over than have gone through this." The on the business here as quickly as possible clock strikes two; there is a slight stir-Now, what is it?" among the Solicitors and their papers. This sudden interrogation is addressed The Policeman folds up his newspaper, to a Solicitor who has risen in front of the and evidently means business. Two other Magistrate. Policemen come in, the clerk sits upright in his chair and poises a pen. In another second there is a bang and a slam, the screen shakes, and a little gentleman bounds from behind it (quite in keeping with my first idea of an entertainment), and brings himself up with a jerk behind the desk-table, on which he places both hands.

The Reporter informs us, in an undertone, that this is Mr. Sharply, the Magis

trate.

CHAPTER IV.

THE MAGISTRATE.-HIS ADDRESS.-FIRST

The Solicitor will not, he says, detain the Magistrate one second longer than he can help

Here Mr. Sharply cuts him short with, "Well, well, what is it? What's the case?"

"The fact is," says the Solicitor, evidently not accustomed to this way of doing business, "the fact is "-here he puts on his spectacles-" that I have an application to make to you, Sir,"-here he produces some papers, and Mr. Sharply, who has been leaning forward on his elbows, as if to give him every attention, now sets himself bolt upright again, as if determined to do nothing of the sort.

The Solicitor continues, "It arises, Sir,

SOLICITOR. AN IMPORTANT CASE. THE out of an ejectment

WAVERER.-AN ASSAULT CASE.-A WAN-
DERING WITNESS.-NEXT CASE.-MAN

This word sets Mr. Sharply off.
"We really haven't any time for this.

WITH THE BAG. AN APPLICATION-PER- It must go to another Court. Call the SISTENCE.-IMPATIENCE.-TIME.-LUCID next case?"

STORY-REMOVAL.-NEXT CASE. THE
VAGRANT.-A DECISION.-NEXT CASE.-
ON WE GO AGAIN.

MR. SHARPLY I notice has a quick eye and a surprised head of hair, which gives one the idea of his having been interrupted in the process of being brushed by machinery.

He has a brisk, crisp manner, and is evidently inclined to be what people call "short" with everyone present-specially the Clerk and the Solicitors.

"He?" says the Solicitor, astonished. "Yes," repeats the Magistrate, "where is he the complainant? Now, my dear Sir, do make haste!"

The Solicitor explains that the complainant is a "she."

"Where is she? Do get on." here he looks at his watch.

And

He stands up with the air of a man who is not to be badgered or put down, and places his hands on the table-desk in "Well," says the irascible Mr. Sharply, such a springy and elastic way as to sug-in a tone that means anything but "well' gest, that, on the slightest provocation, he will vault over, dash in among the papers and inkstands on the Solicitors' table, "scatter his enemies, and make them fall," Everybody's breath is quite taken away by his sudden and unexpected appearWe are all, so to speak, staggered.

ance.

Mrs. Somebody is thereupon called, and comes into the witness-box. She is rather vague, to commence with, on the subject of her name, but having succeeded in making the Clerk understand it

(Mr. Sharply, to expedite matters, posi-ing Policeman has some passing idea of tively invents a name, which the com- removing the Man with a Bag, but he plainant repudiates), she waits to be can't make up his mind to any decisive asked a question. step. The Solicitor commences-"You were, I believe, in

Now," interrupts Mr. Sharply, "Do let her tell her own story! We must get on."

This, however, turns out to be about the worst way of "getting on " that could have been hit upon, as the complainant's story is chiefly about what Somebody else said (which the Magistrate won't hear), and what she told Somebody else to tell a third person not present (which the Magistrate won't receive as evidence).

"I really can't listen to this," says Mr. Sharply, frowning at the Solicitor, as much as to say "You ought to know better." Then, to the Policeman, "Call the next case."

The unfortunate complainant leaves the box, and disappears, utterly bewildered. The Wavering Policeman is about to call the next case, when the next case, as it seems, calls itself, for a short man advances between the dock and the Solicitor's bench with a bagful of papers, and addresses his Worship.

The Magistrate places himself on his elbows, and bends towards him with both hands up to his ears.

The man proceeds-"A case, Sir, has arisen out of a matter of trespassMr. Sharply frowns, and resumes his attitude of attention, as much as to intimate that he'll just give him one more chance, and see what he's driving at-" of trespass, which is of great immediate interest to the person concerned, and to the public in general "-movement of impatience on the part of Mr. Sharply-"and I should say that in this case"-Mr. Sharply refers to his watch-"I am the complainant and the solicitor." Mr. Sharply all attention again. Man with Bag continues, evidently aware that the thread of his discourse may be snipped at any moment"The ground landlord of Number Two, Fuller's Gardens, received the sum of ten shillings and sixpence previous to his bankruptcy, and "-here he warms with his subjects, and addresses the Magistrate with that air of forcible conviction which should characterise a man who has thoroughly mastered the dates and facts of his case "on the second of June, in the year eighteen hundred and sixty-seven

"O, can't listen to this," exclaims Mr. Sharply, shaking his head, as energetically as if he had just come up again after a dive. "Call the next case."

"Remove that

"Now then, sir," he says, as briskly as ever (always on a sort of one down, "But, Sir," says the Man with the Bag, t'other come on "principle), "Who are appealingly. Mr. Sharply is down on him, you? What do you want? Go on, Sir." furiously. "Don't bawl at me, Sir. Good The Gentleman with the Bag com- gracious! it is to be a question whether mences. It appears that he wants a great you are to be heard, or I? No, Sir," deal. It also appears that he has been seeing the man beginning again, "I won't before that Court several times before, have it. Go away, Sir. Here!" (to and has an application to make. The Wavering_Policeman.) word "application" settles his business person. Now, call the next case." The " person "doesn't wait to be removed, but removes himself, bag and all, and retires, explaining his case to the Wavering Policeman, who evidently does his best to comfort him, without committing himself to any view which may compromise him in his official character.

at once.

"I really can't take up the public time," said Mr. Sharply, "with applicacations. Stand down, Sir."

But the Man with a Bag hasn't come there to stand down. He insists upon the Magistrate hearing him.

"A case, Sir," the Man with the Bag goes on persistently, while Mr. Sharply stands aghast at his audacity, and looks round the court at the people and police with the kind of air with which Henry must have said of Archbishop Thomas-à Becket, "Have I no one who will rid me of this utter bore?" I think the Waver

A vagrant, all dirt, rags, and tatters, has stepped into the dock.

"Poor fellow!" says my Aunt.

They are the first words she has uttered since the advent of Mr. Sharply, whose abrupt manner has utterly disarranged all her ideas. She is gradually recovering herself. But I perceive that she is more

or less hysterical, and I begin to prepare | siderately, "Mr. Suiggs with refusing to myself for a scene. allow