Bow Street Magistrates' Court and Police Station

Luck now favored me, and I was fortunate enough to obtain an interview with Mr. Vaughn, who was on the eve of departure, and who, in a few hurried and well-chosen words, and in a metallic tone of voice that I can only, with all respect, compare to the vibrations of the telephone, which I heard some years ago in its infancy, conveyed to me the momentous intelligence that I was remanded till Tuesday.

This was by no means my first appearance at Bow Street Police Court, for though not on so serious a charge as the present, I had on a former occasion made the acquaintance, officially, of the worthy magistrate.

The circumstances are briefly these, and though in no way bearing on my present narrative, may be reasonably introduced as a combination of sweets and bitters, such as one gleans by the advertisements are to be associated with Chow Chow, Nabob Pickles, et cetera, et cetera.

Some four years ago, I had the honor of accompanying a well-known but not equally appreciated young baronet and High Sheriff of an Irish county notorious for his orange, and orange bitters with a dash of gin, proclivities to a low music hall.