After much more conversation, partly on business, and partly on desultory topics, the quarrellings, and bickerings, and all the noisy enmities of that corrupt little world that is contained within—­we should rather say, that was contained within the walls of a grand jury room, ceased; and, with the exception of one or two small matters of no consequence, everything was settled, but not so as to give general satisfaction; for there still remained a considerable number of grumblers, whose objects had been either completely lost in greater corruption, or set aside for the present.

“Here’s another matter,” said Spavin, “which we had better settle at once.  A man here named O’Drive—­Darby O’Drive—­is to be appointed to the under gaolership—­he is strongly recommended by Mr. Lucre, as a man that has renounced Popery.”

“That’s enough, Spavin,” said Hartley, “that, I suppose, comprises all the virtues necessary for an under gaoler, at all events.”

“You know him, M’Clutchy,” said one or two of them.

“He’ll make a good under gaoler,” replied Val, “as there will be in Europe.  Appoint him, gentlemen; you will get no such man.”

“And that is just,” said Sir William aside to Hartley, “all that Val’s recommendation is good for.”

And thus closed as much as we feel necessary to describe of that extraordinary scene—­a grand jury room in the year 1804, or thereabouts.

CHAPTER XXIII.—­A Rent Day

—­Relative Position of Landlord and Tenant—­Grades of Tenantry—­Phil’s Notion of Respect—­Paddy Corrigan’s Protestant Wig—­Phil and Solomon in a Fit of Admiration—­The Widow Tyrrell.

One single week in the progress of time, after the exhibition last described, had wonderfully advanced the catastrophe of our simple and uncomplicated narrative.  Harman, very much to the mortification of M’Clutchy, was acquitted, the evidence being not only in his favor, but actually of such a character, as to prove clearly that his trial was merely one of those dishonest stretches of political vengeance which characterized the times.  On coming out, however, he found the affairs of the firm in a state of bankruptcy and ruin.  The insidious paragraphs in the papers, masked with compassion, and “a hope that the affairs of this respectable firm—­which was hitherto supposed to be a solvent one—­would, still, be wound up in a way, they trusted, somewhat more satisfactory than was given out by their enemies.”  Nor was this the worst, so far as Harman himself was concerned.  The impression of Mary M’Loughlin’s perfidy had been now so thoroughly stamped into his heart, that he neither could, nor would listen to any attempt upon the part of their mutual friends at her vindication.  This last stroke of anguish was owing, also, to Phil’s diabolical ingenuity.  Harman on reflecting day after day, and hour by hour, upon the occurrence, and comparing it with her conduct and confusion on previous