“I say ditto, your honor. Long life an' glory to you every day your honor rises!” Peter, on his way home, entered into a defence of his apology for offering so high a rent to the landlord; but although it possessed both ingenuity and originality, it was, we must confess, grossly defective in those principles usually inculcated by our best Ethic writers. “Couldn't you have tould him what we agreed upon goin' up,” observed Ellish; “but instead o' that, to begin an' tell the gintlemen so many lies about your bein' dhrunk, an' this bein' your birth-day, an' the day we wor marrid, an',----Musha, sich quare stories to come into your head?” “Why,” said Peter, “what harm's in all that, whin he didn't _find me out?_” “But why the sarra did you go to say that I was in the custom o' tellin' lies?” “Faix, bekase I thought you wor goin' to let out all, an' I thought it best to have the first word o' you. What else?--but sure I brought myself off bravely.” “Well, well, a hudh; don't be invintin' sich things another time, or you'll bring yourself into a scrape, some way or other.” “Faix, an' you needn't spake, Ellish; you can let out a nate bounce yourself, whin it's to sarve you. Come now, don't run away wid the story!” “Well, if I do, it's in the way o' my business; whin I'm batin' them down in the price o' what I'm buyin', or gettin' thim to bid up for any thing I'm sellin': besides, it's to advance ourselves in the world that I do it, abouchal.” “Go an, go an; faix, you're like the new moon, sharp at both corners: but what matther, you beauty, we've secured the farm, at any rate, an', by this an' by that, I'll show you tip-top farmin' an it.”