"Not a word: as you said yourself to Jack Darby here, the coroner's jury is not the hanging jury." "Fell now, the matter's finished, and I am ferry glad. I suppose it is all right?" "Entirely--the young Hawk is as dead as a chicken." "It is a clear case then, Mr. Affidafy," said the dignitary, with a long and tempestuous breath, indicating the satisfaction he felt at being released from labours so overpowering, "they fill hang the young fillain?" "Why that depends upon circumstances, Squire." "Oh the tyfel! it is all 'upon circumstances' mit a lawyer?" "It is a good case on either side," said Affidavy; "and not so bad on the prisoner's as might be supposed,--that is, if he had but money to make it an object to take up his cause." "Mine Gott, he has money! There fas his fatch; 'twas goldt, and worth forty pound." "Eh! indeed? has he a gold watch?" "And there fas a purse of guineas"---- "Of guineas!" "And there fas a--fat you call it?--a pill of exchange on New York, and a letter of credit,--mine Gott, it fas mitout limit, except time; put I toubt me, it fas not goodt." "Botheration!" cried the man of law, in a fervour, "who'll lend me a horse to ride to town? I remember now, there was a story that the youngest son of the Gilberts had a rich aunt in Jamaica." "Fell, if he had?" "Why then, I'll certainly volunteer him the aid of my professional skill; and, murder or no murder, I'll bring him off." "You don't say so, Mr. Affidavy?" "Botheration, I do. A letter of credit without limit? Who has it? did you save it?" "No; I gave it pack to him; put I took an inventory of all in his pockets." "Well, Squire, you're an honour to the profession. Lend me a horse." "Fy, if I had you put down to the Creen Tree, and you fould promise to keep soper"---- "Tush, I will. But let's be off, and in a hurry. You are a merciful man, Squire Schlachtenschlager--It is a pity this poor friendless young fellow should be hanged for nothing." "That is, mitout paying nothing to the lawyer? Ho, ho!----Put it toesn't do to laugh by a teadt pody, fen his fader, and moder, and all his friends is feeping and crying. Fat is to pe done mit these Hawks? Can't nopody catch pig Oran? I fill give one pound of mine own money for refard; for, I do afer, he toes give me much trouple. Fell, gentlemen, all is right. Now fill ve all go to the Creen Tree, and ve shall have some prandy to dtrink. Fere is some pody to light mine pipe? A fery padt piece of pusiness, and fery pottersome. I vonder fere they fill pury the young man? Fell, gentlemen, let us pegone." CHAPTER XII.