I broke the silence of surprise occasioned by my abrupt entrance.--“My name, Mr. Inglewood, is Francis Osbaldistone; I understand that some scoundrel has brought a complaint before you, charging me with being concerned in a loss which he says he has sustained.” “Sir,” said the Justice, somewhat peevishly, “these are matters I never enter upon after dinner;--there is a time for everything, and a justice of peace must eat as well as other folks.” The goodly person of Mr. Inglewood, by the way, seemed by no means to have suffered by any fasts, whether in the service of the law or of religion. “I beg pardon for an ill-timed visit, sir; but as my reputation is concerned, and as the dinner appears to be concluded”-- “It is not concluded, sir,” replied the magistrate; “man requires digestion as well as food, and I protest I cannot have benefit from my victuals unless I am allowed two hours of quiet leisure, intermixed with harmless mirth, and a moderate circulation of the bottle.” “If your honour will forgive me,” said Mr. Jobson, who had produced and arranged his writing implements in the brief space that our conversation afforded; “as this is a case of felony, and the gentleman seems something impatient, the charge is _contra pacem domini regis_”-- “D--n _dominie regis!_” said the impatient Justice--“I hope it's no treason to say so; but it's enough to made one mad to be worried in this way. Have I a moment of my life quiet for warrants, orders, directions, acts, bails, bonds, and recognisances?--I pronounce to you, Mr. Jobson, that I shall send you and the justiceship to the devil one of these days.” “Your honour will consider the dignity of the office one of the quorum and custos rotulorum, an office of which Sir Edward Coke wisely saith, The whole Christian world hath not the like of it, so it be duly executed.” “Well,” said the Justice, partly reconciled by this eulogium on the dignity of his situation, and gulping down the rest of his dissatisfaction in a huge bumper of claret, “let us to this gear then, and get rid of it as fast as we can.--Here you, sir--you, Morris--you, knight of the sorrowful countenance--is this Mr. Francis Osbaldistone the gentleman whom you charge with being art and part of felony?” “I, sir?” replied Morris, whose scattered wits had hardly yet reassembled themselves; “I charge nothing--I say nothing against the gentleman,” “Then we dismiss your complaint, sir, that's all, and a good riddance-- Push about the bottle--Mr. Osbaldistone, help yourself.” Jobson, however, was determined that Morris should not back out of the scrape so easily. “What do you mean, Mr. Morris?--Here is your own declaration--the ink scarce dried--and you would retract it in this scandalous manner!” “How do I know,” whispered the other in a tremulous tone, “how many rogues are in the house to back him? I have read of such things in Johnson's Lives of the Highwaymen. I protest the door opens”--