“O certainly not, Sir,” said the pomposity, offended in his turn. “You are indubitably the best judge of your own privileges. I only beg to be allowed to remark, that where I felt I had so little right, I should hesitate to intrude myself.” So saying, he bowed very formally, and commenced his retreat to the cabin, while the Skipper pretended to examine the compass very minutely. In fact our Original had met with a chokepear. The fat man’s answer was too much for him, being framed on a principle clean contrary to his own peculiar system of logic. The more he tried to unravel its meaning, the more it got entangled. He didn’t like it, without knowing why; and he quite disagreed with it, though ignorant of its purport. He looked up at the funnel--and at the flag--and at the deck,--and down the companion stairs,--and then he wound up all by a long shake of his head, as mysterious as Lord Burleigh’s, at the astonished man at the wheel. His mind seemed made up. He buttoned his coat up to the very chin, as if to secure himself to himself, and never opened his lips again till the vessel touched the quay at Holyhead. The Captain then attempted a final apology--but it was interrupted in the middle. “Enough said, Sir--quite enough. If you’ve _only_ done your duty, you’ve no right to beg pardon--and I’ve no right to ask it. All I mean to say is, here am I in Holyhead instead of Dublin. I don’t care what that fat fellow says--who don’t understand his own rights. I stick to all I said before. I have no right to be up in the Moon, have I? Of course not--and I’ve no more right to stand on this present quay, than I have to be up in the Moon!” PATRONAGE.