Three mouths now opened against me, and insisted on “charging” _me_! I thought of the dog of hell—the triple-headed monster—as they barked. My blood was boiling; I _ordered_ the watchman to take them instantly to the watch-house, on pain of being next morning reported; but what was my indignation—my almost distraction, at finding the fellow altogether deaf to my command, although I was in _regimentals_! Instead of taking my assaulters to the judge of the night, he absolutely seized _me_ by the collar, and as he forced me along, roared out something like the following:— “Oh! by Jasus, man, yir not in the barracks now. Who cares about your ordthers? By my sowl! I'll tache you betther manners, though ya _have_ a red coat upon ya; yar not to be salting the dacent people in the open sthreets. Is it becaise I've lost my eye in the sarvice, that you want to get the blind side o' me?” “You infernal Cyclops!” returned I, “you cannot see plainly with the one that is left to you.” Remonstrance was useless. I put, not only my powers of speech in the fullest action, but also my powers of muscle: all in vain—four pair of arms pulling at one coat, are too much for any _body_. I was absolutely _trotted_ off to the watch-house. Here I expected to obtain ample satisfaction for the injury I had sustained, and with this feeling addressed the “Commanding officer”—a fellow with a huge red-cabbage face, a pot of porter before him, a pipe in his hand, and a rabbit-skin cap on his greasy head. I told my story in very few words; but dwelt with “becoming warmth” upon the manner in which justice was administered by the men of lanterns and rattles, and concluded with a severe philippic against the watch department in general. I demanded that the watchmen, as well as the three men who had caused the confusion, should be locked up forthwith. Whether it was my natural powers of speech, or my all powerful energy of voice and manner, which procured for me this hearing, I cannot tell—but I have to regret the privilege; for my address, so far from being relished by the constable, inclined him, I think, to lend a more favourable ear to my adversaries; and his bias inclined still more towards them, when they appealed to him as “_the representative of magistracy_.” In short, they had it all their own way, and old Dogberry, in accordance with the feelings excited in him, by abuse on the one side, and flattery on the other, declared against me. “This here thing,” said he, “is a conspiracy against these three respectable men, and that 'ere vatchman; but it 'ont do. You see, you comes and you 'tacks these here people a going to their perspective homes, as honest citizens should. What _are_ you, gemmen?” (_To the cheesemongers._) “We are gentlemen in the city,” replied the “spokesman” of the triumvirate. “What's your names?” inquired the constable. “John Stilton,” was the reply. “John Stilton! eh! what—of _Green, Stilton, Mite, and Co._?” exclaimed the constable.