Our readers may perceive that there was among them an open, hardy scorn not only of all shame, but of the very forms of common decency and self-respect.  The feelings, the habits, the practices, the distribution of jobs and of jobbings, the exercise of petty authority, party spirit, and personal resentment, all went the same way, and took the same bent; because, in point of fact, there was in this little assembly of village tyrants, no such thing as an opposition—­for three or four—­were nothing—­no balance of feeling—­no division of opinion—­and consequently no check upon the double profligacy of practice and principle, which went forward under circumstances where there existed a complete sense of security, and an utter absence of all responsibility.

“Gentlemen, we are losing a great deal of time unnecessarily,” observed M’Clutchy, “let us first get through the business, and afterwards we will be more at leisure for this trifling.  The bills for Harman are not yet found.”

“Not found,” replied Spavin, “why how soft you are, Val.”

“Why they are not,” reiterated Val.

“And why are they not?”

“Ask Counsellor Browbeater, the hard-faced barrister, that has the right of Black Trot in the Castle, and he will tell you.”

“We all know that very well, Val, no thanks to your squeamishness,” observed Deaker; “the truth is, he did not wish to let him out for a reason he has,” he added, winking at the rest.

“Let us hear the calendar,” said Hartley, “and got through the business as quickly as we can, secretary.”

“Is that Browbeater,” asked Sir William, “who was engaged in the spy system a little before I returned from England—­a d——­d scandalous transaction.”

“The spy system, Sir William, is a very useful one to government,” replied Val, “and they would be devilish fools if they did not encourage it.”

“That may be your opinion, Mr. M’Clutchy,” said Sir William, “and your practice, for aught I know; but, permit me to say, that it is not the opinion of a gentleman, a man of honor, nor of any honest man, however humble.”

“I perfectly agree with you, Sir William,” said Hartley, “and I despise the government which can stoop to such discreditable treachery, for it is nothing else.  The government that could adopt such a tool as this Browbeater, would not scruple to violate the sanctity either of private life or public confidence, if it suited their interest—­nay, I question whether they would not be guilty of a felony itself, and open the very letters in the post-office, which are placed there under the sacred seal of public faith.  However, never mind; proceed with the calendar.”

“Here is the case of some of your wreckers, M’Clutchy, charged here with illegally, maliciously, and violently pulling down several houses in the village of Crockaniska—­assaulting and maltreating the unoffending inhabitants.”

“Halt there a moment,” said Val; “rebels, every man of the said inhabitants, which I can prove.  My men, who are remarkable for their Protestantism and loyalty, went upon private information—­”