y of his appearance than he had yet had either time or
inclination to make.

He was a sallow man--all cobblers are; and had a strong bristly
beard--all cobblers have. His face was a queer, good-tempered,
crooked-featured piece of workmanship, ornamented with a couple of
eyes that must have worn a very joyous expression at one time, for they
sparkled yet. The man was sixty, by years, and Heaven knows how old
by imprisonment, so that his having any look approaching to mirth or
contentment, was singular enough. He was a little man, and, being half
doubled up as he lay in bed, looked about as long as he ought to have
been without his legs. He had a great red pipe in his mouth, and
was smoking, and staring at the rush-light, in a state of enviable
placidity.

'Have you been here long?' inquired Sam, breaking the silence which had
lasted for some time.

'Twelve year,' replied the cobbler, biting the end of his pipe as he
spoke.

'Contempt?' inquired Sam. The cobbler nodded.

'Well, then,' said Sam, with some sternness, 'wot do you persevere
in bein' obstinit for, vastin' your precious life away, in this here
magnified pound? Wy don't you give in, and tell the Chancellorship that
you're wery sorry for makin' his court contemptible, and you won't do so
no more?'

The cobbler put his pipe in the corner of his mouth, while he smiled,
and then brought it back to its old place again; but said nothing.

'Wy don't you?' said Sam, urging his question strenuously.

'Ah,' said the cobbler, 'you don't quite understand these matters. What
do you suppose ruined me, now?'

'Wy,' said Sam, trimming the rush-light, 'I s'pose the beginnin' wos,
that you got into debt, eh?'

'Never owed a farden,' said the cobbler; 'try again.'

'Well, perhaps,' said Sam, 'you bought houses, wich is delicate English
for goin' mad; or took to buildin', wich is a medical term for bein'
incurable.'

The cobbler shook his head and said, 'Try again.'

'You didn't go to law, I hope?' said Sam suspiciously.

'Never in my life,' replied the cobbler.

'The fact is, I was ruined by having money left me.'

'Come, come,' said Sam, 'that von't do. I wish some rich enemy 'ud try
to vork my destruction in that 'ere vay. I'd let him.'

'Oh, I dare say you don't believe it,' said the cobbler, quietly
smoking his pipe. 'I wouldn't if I was you; but it's true for all that.'

'How wos it?' inquired Sam, half induced to believe the fact already, by
the l