the hour of eleven
The hour of twelve has arrived ; and since eight in the morning Mr. Moon 's time has been consumed in preliminaries necessary to the organisation of a coroner 's jury . The reader we know will excuse our not entering into the minuti ` of the organisation . Eleven jurors have answered the summons , but a twelfth seems difficult to procure . John , the good Coroner 's negro servant , has provided a sufficiency of brandy and cigars , which , since the hour of eleven , have been discussed without stint . The only objection our worthy disposer of the dead has to this is , that some of his jurors , becoming very mellow , may turn the inquest into a farce , with himself playing the low-comedy part . The dead body , which lies covered with a sheet , is fast becoming enveloped in smoke , while no one seems to have a passing thought for it . Colonel Tom Edon , -- who , they say , is not colonel of any regiment , but has merely received the title from the known fact of his being a hogdriver , which honourable profession is distinguished by its colonels proceeding to market mounted , while the captains walk , -- merely wonders how much bad whiskey the dead ` un consumed while he lived .