On the following morning Mr. Marchant repaired to town on foot, to give notice of the robbery to the police; and almost the first object that caught his eye, on getting into Piccadilly, was John Saunders--still mounted on his Bucephalus, but without either band-box or umbrella. He stared at John Saunders--John Saunders stared at him; and they gradually drew near to each other without a word being uttered on either side. Having conglomerated, John Saunders offered him his horse again--telling him he had "mounted it by accident," and it ran away with him; that he wished it at the _dooce_, almost, for taking him so far from home; and that he was come to town for the sole purpose of advertising in the _noosepapers_ for its owner. When he had told the astonished Mr. Marchant all this, he dismounted; gave the bridle rein into Mr. Merchant's hand, and then produced the manuscript of his intended advertisement. But Mr. Marchant having no idea of a man's "mounting a horse by _accident_," seized John Saunders by the collar, and gave him in charge to one of the passing patrol, who brought him to this office. So far was Mr. Marchant's statement of the affair; and, he having concluded, John Saunders was called upon for his defence. John Saunders, as we have already stated, was a remarkably mild, quiet young man; and he told a story--or rather a story was drawn out of him bit by bit, of which the following is the substance:--He resided with his mama at Clapham--was himself "brought up in the glass line," (and truly he seemed as _transparent_ as glass,) but was then out of business. On the afternoon preceding the night on which he met with Mr. Marchant and his wicked horse, his _mama_ sent him to her milliner's, at Kensington, to bring home a bonnet and feathers which she had sent there to be "done up." He went to Kensington--called upon a friend, who gave him some Scotch ale--went to the milliner, who put the bonnet and feathers in a large white band-box, and he was quietly returning home to Clapham with it, when he fell in with the gentleman, and his horse with a pebble in his foot: but he wished he never had fallen in with them; for he had been made very miserable by it. He offered his services to get the pebble out, and spoiled his umbrella; he undertook to hold the horse while the gentleman looked for a stone, and the Scotch ale, having got into his head, as he supposed, induced him to get on the horse's back--quite contrary to his intention. The horse ran away with him directly--directly contrary to the way he wished to go--he was hurried along, in a dreadful manner, he knew not whither, till the horse stopped at Brompton; and then he found that the large white band-box was worn almost to tatters by its excessive agitation on horseback, and that one of the feathers of his mother's bonnet was sadly broken. He then considered within himself that it would be impossible to find the gentleman to whom the horse belonged that night;