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OYSTER EATING.

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A law student was brought up from St. Clement's watch-house, to which place he had been consigned between eleven and twelve on the preceding night, at the suit of an ancient oyster-woman of that parish.

The venerable fishmongeress deposed, that the Law Student was in the practice of occasionally taking oysters at her shop; and in general he conducted himself like a very nice sort of gentleman—so much so, that she had more pleasure in opening oysters for him than for any other gentleman of her acquaintance; but on this unfortunate night he came in very tipsy, and devoured so many oysters that she was quite alarmed at him. She opened, and opened, and opened, till her hands and arms ached ready to drop off, and still he kept craving for more; and he would have them, in spite of her remonstrating that he would certainly burst himself. At last he took it in his head to go out to look at the weather, and she took that opportunity of locking him out; thinking he would be satisfied with what he had had, and would go quietly home; but instead of this, he commenced an assault and battery on her door, and before she could unlock it, he had not only forced it off the hinges, but had shivered one of the panels to pieces with his foot. She was now more alarmed than ever, and fearing he might even attempt to serve her as he had served the oysters, she "skreeked for the watch," and he was taken to the round-house.

The Law Student, who seemed to be still under the influence of the Tuscan grape, heard all this with a quiet, comfortable simper; and then, with a low lounging sort of bow to the lady, he said in a voice that seemed to make its way with difficulty through a mass of oysters, "Suppose, Mrs. Jinkins, I reinstate your door—you will be satisfied?"

"Sir," interrupted the magistrate, "you must satisfy me, as well as Mrs. Jinkins; you have broken the public peace; let me know what you have to say to that?"

"Your worship," replied the Law Student, with an oyster-oppressed sigh, "your worship, I have nothing to say, save and except that I was rather—"

"Drunk, you mean to say," observed his worship.

"Your worship, I am sorry to say, conjectures rightly," replied the Law Student, with another very graceful bow, and another sigh from the very bottom of his oyster-bed.

"Then, Sir," rejoined the magistrate, "pay the woman for the damage you have done her door—pay one shilling for your discharge fee, and five shillings for being drunk; and then go about your business, and keep yourself sober in future."

The Law Student bowed again, and beckoned to a young man at the farther end of the office, who instantly stepped forward and paid the money; and then the Law Student, making two distinct bows—one to the magistrate, and the other to his oyster-woman, slided genteelly out of the office.

Mornings at Bow Street

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