“And who has the honor to present you with this communication from that nobleman,” said Mr. Topertoe, “which contains your Dismissal from his Agency; and this to you, Mr. M’Slime, which also contains your Dismissal as his Law Agent.  The authority of each of you from this moment ceases; and yours, my sterling, excellent, and honorable friend, from this moment recommences,” said he, turning to Mr. Hickman.  “This letter contains your re-appointment to the situation which you so honorably scorned to hold, when you found it necessary, as his Agent, to oppress the people.  Will you be good enough, Mr. M’Loughlin, to call in Mr. Harman and those other people?  You shall not be left in the dark, sir,” he proceeded, “as to the extent of our knowledge of your dishonesty, treachery, and persecution.”

“Truly, my friend M’Clutchy, it is our duty now to act a Christian part here.  This dispensation may be ultimately for our good, if we receive it in a proper spirit.  May He grant it!”

M’Clutchy’s face became the color of lead on perusing his dismissal, which was brief, stern, and peremptory—­or as the phrase goes—­short, sharp, and decisive.  It was written by Lord Cumber’s own hand, and to give it all due authenticity, had his seal formally attached at the bottom.  Harman now entered, accompanied by Darby, Poll Doolin, and a number of those persons among the tenantry, whom M’Clutchy had robbed and persecuted.  On looking at them, after having twice perused the letter of dismissal, his hands and knees trembled as if he were about to fall, and on attempting to fold the letter, it was visible to all that he could scarcely accomplish it.

“Now,” proceeded Mr. Topertoe, “I may as well inform you that I have made myself thoroughly and most intimately acquainted with your conduct in all its revolting phases; I have read and transmitted to my brother two letters which passed between you and this pious gentleman, Mr. M’Slime, here, upon the subject of Messrs. M’Loughlin and Harman’s property—­than which, nothing more flagitious could—­in the way of business, or in the performance of any public duty—­enter the heart of man.  Just Heaven! a poor creature, perhaps prompted by the cravings of hunger, will steal some paltry matter, not worth half a crown—­perhaps a pocket-handkerchief—­and forthwith out comes justice, oh, not Justice, but Law in her stead, with sword in hand, and scales most iniquitously balanced; and, lo! the unfortunate wretch is immediately dragged to a prison, and transported for life to a penal colony; whilst at the same time, rapacious villains like you, will plunder by wholesale—­will wring the hearts of the poor, first by your tyranny, and afterwards rob them in their very destitution.  The unhappy, struggling widow, without a husband to defend her, you would oppress, because she is helpless, and your scoundrel son would corrupt her, were she not virtuous.  You would intoxicate an aged man that he might, in the unguarded moments of inebriety, surrender a valuable