The Prince, Lord Surrey, and Sheridan were in the habit of seeking nightly adventures of any kind that suggested itself to their lively minds.  A low tavern, still in existence, was the rendezvous of the heir to the crown and his noble and distinguished associates.  This was the ‘Salutation,’ in Tavistock Court, Covent Garden, a night house for gardeners and countrymen, and for the sharpers who fleeced both, and was kept by a certain Mother Butler, who favoured in every way the adventurous designs of her exalted guests.  Here wigs, smock-frocks, and other disguises were in readiness; and here, at call, was to be found a ready-made magistrate, whose sole occupation was to deliver the young Haroun and his companions from the dilemmas which their adventures naturally brought them into, and which were generally more or less concerned with the watch.  Poor old watch! what happy days, when members of parliament, noblemen, and future monarchs condescended to break thy bob-wigged head! and—­blush, Z 350, immaculate constable—­to toss thee a guinea to buy plaster with.

In addition to the other disguise, aliases were of course assumed.  The prince went by the name of Blackstock, Greystock was my Lord Surrey, and Thinstock Richard Brinsley Sheridan.  The treatment of women by the police is traditional.  The ’unfortunate’—­unhappy creatures!—­are their pet aversion; and once in their clutches, receive no mercy.  The ‘Charley’ of old was quite as brutal as the modern Hercules of the glazed hat, and the three adventurers showed an amount of zeal worthy of a nobler cause, in rescuing the drunken Lais from his grasp.  On one occasion they seem to have hit on a ‘deserving case;’ a slight skirmish with the watch ended in a rescue, and the erring creature was taken off to a house of respectability sufficient to protect her.  Here she told her tale, which, however improbable, turned out to be true.  It was a very old, a very simple one—­the common history of many a frail, foolish girl, cursed with beauty, and the prey of a practised seducer.  The main peculiarity lay in the fact of her respectable birth, and his position, she being the daughter of a solicitor, he the son of a nobleman.  Marriage was promised, of course, as it has been promised a million times with the same intent, and for the millionth time was not performed.  The seducer took her from her home, kept her quiet for a time, and when the novelty was gone, abandoned her.  The old story went on; poverty—­a child—­a mother’s love struggling with a sense of shame—­a visit to her father’s house at the last moment, as a forlorn hope.  There she had crawled on her knees to one of those relentless parents on whose heads lie the utter loss of their children’s souls.  The false pride, that spoke of the blot on his name, the disgrace of his house—­when a Saviour’s example should have bid him forgive and raise the penitent in her misery from the dust—­whispered him to turn her from his door.  He ordered the footman