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Rh entered an Islington omnibus, with, the view of attending a tea and prayer meeting in Bell Court, Islington. A woman in the omnibus missed her purse, and accused Mrs. Briggs, who sat on her right, of having stolen it. The poor soul, speechless with horror at the charge, was dragged out of the omnibus, and as the purse was found in a pocket in the left hand side of her dress, she was given into custody. As it was stated by the police that she had been "in trouble" before, the infatuated magistrate who examined her committed her for trial.

"There, my boy, your fortune's made," said Polter.

"But I don't see the use of my taking it," said I; " [sic]there's nothing to be said for her."

"Not take it? Won't you though? I'll see about that. You shall take it, and you shall get her off, too! Highly respectable old lady—attentive member of well-known congregation—parson to speak to her character, no doubt. As honest as you are!"

"But the purse was found upon her."

"Well, sir, and what of that? Poor woman left-handed, and pocket in left of dress. Robbed woman right-handed, and pocket in right of dress. Poor woman sat on right of robbed woman. Robbed woman, replacing her purse, slipped it accidentally into poor woman's pocket. Ample folds of dress, you know—crinolines overlapping, and all that.—Splendid defence for you!"

"Well, but she's an old hand, it seems. The police know her."

"Police always do; 'always know everybody;' police maxim. Swear anything, they will."

Polter really seemed so sanguine about it that I began