“And why not, sir? Upon my honor and conscience, things is come to a pretty pass when a man--a magistrate--like me, must be lectured by his own son! Isn't it too bad, Catherine?” “I am no politician, you know, but I think he doesn't mean to lecture you, papa; perhaps you ought to say to reason or remonstrate with--” “Raison! remonstrate! And what right has he aither to raison or remonstrate with a man--or rather a magistrate--such as I am known by the government to be. He calls that paragraph gross and barefaced flattery, and myself a staryrayotype! but I tell him now that it is no flattery, nor anything at all but the downright naked thruth, and no man ought to know that better than I do, for this good raison, that it was myself wrote every line of it, and got Swiggerly only to correct it.” A deep and crimson blush overspread his daughter's face on hearing this mean and degrading admission; and Fergus, who was in the act of bringing a bit of ham to his mouth, suddenly laid it down again, then looked first at Catherine, then at his father, several times in succession. The good-humored girl, however, whose merry heart and light spirits always disposed her to look at the pleasant side of everything, suddenly glancing at the red, indignant face with which her father, in the heat of argument, and in order to illustrate the truth of public opinion in this instance, had made the acknowledgment--all at once, and before the rosy blush had departed from her beautiful face, burst out into a ringing and merry laugh, which Fergus felt to be contagious and irresistible. On glancing again at his father, he joined her in the mirth, and both laughed long and heartily. “And so, father,” proceeded Fergus, “you bring us a paragraph written by yourself, to illustrate the value of public opinion; but believe me, my dear father, and I mean it with all respect, these puffs, whether written by one's self or others--these political puffs I say, like literary ones, always do more harm than good to the object they are intended to serve.” “Never you mind that, Fergus, my boy, I know how to play my game, I think; and besides, don't you know, I expect a snug-morsel from government for yourself, my boy; yet you never consider that--not you.” “But, my dear father, I never wish to hear a respectable man like you acknowledge that he is playing a game at all; it reminds me of the cringing, sycophantic, and prostitute crew of political gamblers and manoeuvrers, by whom, not only this government, but every other, is perpetually assailed and infested, and amongst which crew it would grieve me to think that you should be included. As to myself, if I ever get anything from government, it must not come to me through any of those arrangements by which trick and management, not to say dishonesty and conniption, are, to the shame of all parties, so frequently rewarded. With a slight change upon Pope, I say-- “'Grant me honest place, or grant me none.'”