itness after witness to speak to the character of his client, who was an
engraver (I believe he was an engraver of bank notes); he would call
witness after witness who would tell them how long they had known him,
and how long he had had the watch; and, curiously enough, such curious
things did sometimes almost providentially take place in a Court of
Justice, he would call the very man that poor Mr. Simpleman had purchased
it of five years ago, when he was almost, as you might say, in the first
happy blush of boyhood (that 'blush of boyhood' went down with many of
the jury who were fond of pathos); let the jury only fancy! but really
would it be safe--really would it be safe, let him ask them upon their
consciences, which in after life, perhaps years to come, when their heads
were on their pillows, and their hands upon their hearts, (here several
of the jury audibly sniffed), would those consciences upbraid, or would
those consciences approve them for their work to-day? would it be safe to
convict after the exhibition the prosecutor had made of himself in that
box, where, he ventured to say, Bumpkin stood self-condemned before that
intelligent jury."

Here the intelligent jury turned towards one another, and after a moment
or two announced, through their foreman (who was a general-dealer in old
metal, in a dark street over the water), that if they heard a witness or
two to the young man's character that would be enough for them.

Witnesses, therefore, were called to character, and the young man was
promptly acquitted, the jury appending to their verdict that he left the
Court without a stain upon his character.

"Bean't I 'lowed to call witnesses to charickter?" asks the Prosecutor.

"Oh, no," replied Mr. Nimble; "we know your character pretty well."

"What's that?" inquired the Judge.

"He wants to know, my lord," says Mr. Nimble, laughing, "if he may call
witnesses to character!"

"Oh dear, no," says the Judge; "you were not being tried."

Now many persons might have been of a different opinion from his lordship
on this point. Snooks for one, I think; for he gave a great loud vulgar
haw! haw! haw! and said, "I could ha' gien him a charakter."

"Si-lence!" said the Usher.

"May the prisoner have his watch, my lord?" asks Mr. Nimble.

"O, yes," said his lordship, "to be sure. Give the prisoner his watch."

"_His_ watch," groaned a voice.

CHAPTER XXX.

Mr. Alibi is stricken with a thunderbolt--in