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The story of his pure soul was exactly what Mr. Attorney-General had described it to be-perhaps, if it had a fault, a little too exactly.

Having released his noble bosom of its burden, he would have modestly withdrawn himself, but that the wigged gentleman with the papers before him, sitting not far from Mr. Lorry, begged to ask him a few questions.

The wigged gentleman sitting opposite, still looking at the ceiling of the court.

Had he ever been a spy himself? No, he scorned the base insinuation.

What did he live upon? His property.

Where was his property? He didn't precisely remember where it was.

What was it? No business of anybody's.

Had he inherited it? Yes, he had.

From whom? Distant relation.

Very distant? Rather.

Ever been in prison? Certainly not.

Never in a debtors' prison? Didn't see what that had to do with it.

Never in a debtors' prison?-Come, once again.

Never? Yes.

How many times? Two or three times.

Not five or six? Perhaps.

Of what profession? Gentleman.

Ever been kicked? Might have been.

Frequently? No. Ever kicked downstairs? Decidedly not; once received a kick on the top of a staircase, and fell downstairs of his own accord.

Kicked on that occasion for cheating at dice? Something to that effect was said by the intoxicated liar who committed the assault, but it was not true.

Swear it was not true? Positively.

Ever live by cheating at play? Never.

Ever live by play? Not more than other gentlemen do.

Ever borrow money of the prisoner? Yes.

Ever pay him? No. Was not this intimacy with the prisoner, in reality a very slight one, forced upon the prisoner in coaches, inns, and packets? No. Sure he saw the prisoner with these lists? Certain.

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