squeeze himself into court.

“What’s on?” he asked, in a whisper, of the man he found

himself next to.

“Nothing yet.”

“What’s coming on?”

“The Treason case.”

“The quartering one, eh?”

“Ah!” returned the man, with a relish; “he’ll be drawn on a

hurdle to be half hanged, and then he’ll be taken down and sliced

before his own face, and then his inside will be taken out and

burnt while he looks on, and then his head will be chopped off,

and he’ll be cut into quarters. That’s the sentence.”

“If he’s found Guilty, you mean to say?” Jerry added, by way of

proviso.

“Oh! they’ll find him guilty,” said the other. “Don’t you be

afraid of that.”

Mr. Cruncher’s attention was here diverted to the door-keeper,

whom he saw making his way to Mr. Lorry, with the note in his

hand. Mr. Lorry sat at a table, among the gentlemen in wigs: not

far from a wigged gentleman, the prisoner’s counsel, who had a

great bundle of papers before him: and nearly opposite another

wigged gentleman with his hands in his pockets, whose whole

attention, when Mr. Cruncher looked at him then or afterwards,

seemed to be concentrated on the ceiling of the court. After some

gruff coughing and rubbing of his chin and signing with his hand,

Jerry attracted the notice of Mr. Lorry, who had stood up to look

for him, and who quietly nodded and