"It was impossible to make out any case in his behalf, and on his trial he pleaded guilty. How or when he got the means I don't know; but while he was awaiting his sentence, he poisoned himself in Newgate." We inquired of this officer, on the conclusion of the foregoing anecdote, whether the time appeared long, or short, when he lay in that constrained position under the sofa? "'Why, you see, Sir,' he replied, 'if he hadn't come in, the first time, and I had not been quite sure he was the thief, and would return, the time would have seemed long. But, as it was, I being dead-certain of my man, the time seemed pretty short.'" Part XIV. THE MARTYRS OF CHANCERY. In Lambeth Marsh stands a building better known than honored. The wealthy merchant knows it as the place where an unfortunate friend, who made that ruinous speculation during the recent sugar-panic, is now a denizen; the man-about-town knows it as a spot to which several of his friends have been driven, at full gallop, by fleet race-horses and dear dog-carts; the lawyer knows it as the "last scene of all," the catastrophe of a large proportion of law-suits; the father knows it as a bug-bear wherewith to warn his scapegrace spendthrift son; but the uncle knows it better as the place whence nephews date protestations of reform and piteous appeals, "this once," for bail. Few, indeed, are there who has not heard of the Queen's Prison, or, as it is more briefly and emphatically termed, "The Bench!" Awful sound! What visions of folly and roguery, of sloth and seediness, of ruin and recklessness, are conjured up to the imagination in these two words! It is the "Hades" of commerce--the "Inferno" of fortune. Within its grim walls--surmounted by a chevaux de frise, classically termed "Lord Ellenborough's teeth"--dwell at this moment members of almost every class of society. Debt--the grim incubus riding on the shoulders of his victim, like the hideous old man in the Eastern fable--has here his captives safely under lock and key, and within fifty-feet walls. The church, the army, the navy, the bar, the press, the turf, the trade of England, have each and all their representatives in this "house." Every grade, from the ruined man of fortune, to the petty tradesman who has been undone by giving credit to others still poorer than himself, sends its members to this Bankrupts' Parliament. Nineteen-twentieths in this Royal House of Detention owe their misfortunes directly or indirectly to themselves; and, for them, every free and prosperous man has his cut-and-dry moral, or scrap of pity, or screed of advice; but there is a proportion of prisoners--happily a small one--within those huge brick boundaries, who have committed no crime, broken no law, infringed no commandment. They are the victims of a system which has been bequeathed to us from the dark days of the "Star Chambers" and "Courts of High Commission"--we mean the Martyrs of Chancery.