Like most boys, Jones had a keen appreciation of a feast, all the more enjoyable because irregularly come by; and, when he was arrested, he was found to have been sitting at his ease in one of the royal apartments, regaling himself with some cold meat and potatoes, which he had conveyed upstairs in his handkerchief. On being questioned how he obtained an entrance, his reply was, “the same way as before”; and he boasted, moreover, that he could, at any time he pleased, get into the palace; but he was extremely taciturn, and refused to satisfy curiosity, more particularly on this point. What he confessed at his examination by the Privy Council is not known, as the proceedings were in private, reporters being excluded, and the public were left in possession of only the above bare facts. He persisted that the only motive for his intrusion was to hear the conversation at Court, and to write an account of it; but this plea of simplicity did not save him from a repetition of his old sentence of three months imprisonment in the House of Correction, with the uncomfortable addition, this time, of hard labour. Perhaps the best punishment for this juvenile addition of Paul Pry would have been that suggested by the _Satirist_, in the following paragraph: “As the urchin Jones, in a letter to his father, stated that his reason for entering the Queen’s house was to ‘seek for noose, in order to rite a book,’ it is a matter of general regret that, instead of magnifying the affair into Home Office importance, the young rogue was not accommodated with a rope’s end.” His visit, however, necessitated the appointment of three additional sentries at the palace. What became of him afterwards, nobody knows and nobody cares, but, one thing is certain, he was _persuaded_ to go to sea, and _Punch_ (born 17 July) devotes a page (vol. i., p. 46) to “The Boy Jones’s Log,” a portion of which is as follows: “This mellancholly reflexion threw me into a poeticle fitte, and though I was werry uneasy in my _stommik_, and had nothing to rite on but my _chest_, I threw off as follows in a few 2nds, and arterards sung it to the well-none hair of ‘Willy Reilly’:— “Oakum to me, {156} ye sailors bold, Wot plows upon the sea; To you I mean for to unfold My mournful historie. So pay attention to my song, And quick-el-ly shall appear, How innocently, all along, I was in-weigle-ed here. “One night, returnin home to bed, I walk’d through Pim-li-co, And, twigging of the Palass, sed, ‘I’m _Jones_ and In-i-go.’ But afore I could get out, my boys, Pollise-man 20A, He caught me by the corderoys, And lugged me right a-way.