"Name? Jim Bulkins, sir. Bin boots at ''Ungry Man' fur two year'n more come larst Easter. Two days back, gen'man--him upstair--come 'ere t' stay. Come wi' couach fro' Winchester. Ony a bag--leather bag--very light. Carried 't upstair fur gen'man, who 'ad thir'-seven. Gen'man come 'bout five. 'Ad dinner, then wrote letter. Posted letter hisself. Show'd 'im post orfice. Guv me sixpence; guv me t'other fur carr'in' up bag. Seemed cheerful. Went t' bed 'bout nine. Nex' mornin' I went upstair with butts. Gen'man arsked fur butts t' be givin pusonally t' 'im 'cause 'e were perticler 'bout polish. Knocked at door; n' anser. Knocked agin; n' anser. Thought gen'man 'sleep, so pushed door to put butts inside; door were open." _Coroner_.--"What do you mean by the door being open?" _Witness_.--"Weren't locked, sir; closed t' a bit--what you might call ajar, sir. Entered room, put down butts; gen'man were lyin' quiet in bed. Thought 'e were sleepin' an' come downstair. This were 'bout nine. At ten went up agin. Knocked; n' anser. Knocked agin; n' anser. Went into room agin; gen'man still sleepin'. Went to wake 'im an' found 'e were ded. Sung out at onct, an' Mr. Chickles 'e come up." _Juryman_ (sharp-nosed and inquisitive).--"How was he lying when you saw him first?" _Witness_.--"Bedclose up t' chin, sir. 'Ands and h'arms inside bedclose; lyin' on back--bedclose smooth like. Know'd 'e were ded by whiteness of 'is face--like chalk, sir--h'awful!" _Coroner_.--"Are you sure deceased asked you to give him his boots personally next morning?" _Witness_.--"Yes, sir--said 'e were vury perticler." _Coroner_.--"Did he seem to you like a man intending to make away with himself?" _Witness_.--"No, sir. Quite lively like. Sed as 'ow 'e were goin' to look roun' this 'ole nex' day, sir." _Coroner_ (pompously).--"And what did the deceased mean by the expression 'this hole,' my man?" _Witness_ (grinning).--"Jarlchester, sir." Great indignation on the part of the patriotic jury at hearing their native town thus described, and as Boots is still grinning, thinking such remark to be an excellent joke, he is told sharply to stand down, which he does with obvious relief. The next witness called was Sampson Chickles, the landlord of the "Hungry Man." A fat, portly individual is Mr. Chickles, with a round red face, and a ponderous consciousness that he is the hero of the hour--or rather the minute. "Swear Sampson Chickles!" Which is done by a fussy clerk with a rapid gabble and a dingy Bible--open at Revelations--and Mr. Chickles, being sworn to tell the truth and nothing but the truth, gives his evidence in a fat voice coming somewhere from the recesses of his rotund stomach. "My name, gentlemen, is Sampson Chickles, and I've lived in Jarlchester, man and boy, sixty years. But I keep my health wonderful, gentlemen, saving a touch of the--" _Coroner_.--"Will the witness kindly confine himself to the matter in hand?"