satisfactory. It consisted in a firm declaration of his innocence.
His comrade, he confessed, might have stolen the watch; but he humbly
suggested that that was exactly the very reason why he had not stolen
it.

"How long, fellow," asked Justice Burnflat, "have you known your
companion?"

"About half a year."

"And what is his name and calling?" Paul hesitated, and declined to
answer.

"A sad piece of business!" said the justice, in a melancholy tone, and
shaking his head portentously.

The lawyer acquiesced in the aphorism, but with great magnanimity
observed that he did not wish to be hard upon the young man. His youth
was in his favour, and his offence was probably the consequence of evil
company. He suggested, therefore, that as he must be perfectly aware of
the address of his friend, he should receive a full pardon if he would
immediately favour the magistrate with that information. He concluded by
remarking, with singular philanthropy, that it was not the punishment of
the youth, but the recovery of his watch, that he desired.

Justice Burnflat, having duly impressed upon our hero's mind the
disinterested and Christian mercy of the complainant, and the
everlasting obligation Paul was under to him for its display, now
repeated, with double solemnity, those queries respecting the habitation
and name of Long Ned which our hero had before declined to answer.

Grieved are we to confess that Paul, ungrateful for and wholly untouched
by the beautiful benignity of Lawyer Brandon, continued firm in his
stubborn denial to betray his comrade; and with equal obduracy
he continued to insist upon his own innocence and unblemished
respectability of character.

"Your name, young man?" quoth the justice. "Your name, you say, is
Paul,--Paul what? You have many an alias, I'll be bound."

Here the young gentleman again hesitated; at length he replied,--

"Paul Lobkins, your worship."

"Lobkins!" repeated the judge,--"Lobkins! Come hither, Saunders; have
not we that name down in our black books?"

"So, please your worship," quoth a little stout man, very useful in many
respects to the Festus of the police, "there is one Peggy Lobkins, who
keeps a public-house, a sort of flash ken, called the Mug, in Thames
Court,--not exactly in our beat, your worship."

"Ho, ho!" said Justice Burnflat; winking at Mr. Brandon, "we must
sift this a little. Pray, Mr. Paul Lobkins, what relation is the good
landlady of the Mug, in Thame