“Ah!  Kate, I know you of old!  Very good that—­extremely good, upon my word However, as I was saying, if you don’t act and think as the world about you acts and thinks, you had as good, as I said, get a betther one if you can.  Here, now, I see Mat Purcel coming up the avenue; and as I want to have some private conversation with him, I must be off to my office, where I desire you to send him to me.  There’s a time for everything, they say, and a place for everything—­I hope, Fergy, you and I will have occasion, before long, to say, a place for some—­ha! ha! ha!  Well, as I said, there’s a place for everything! and I don’t think it would become me to spake upon official business anywhere but in my own office.  We must not only do our business properly, but look like it.”

Purcel found our pompous little man enveloped, as we have already said, in a most fashionable morning-gown and embroidered slippers, and at the same time busily engaged in writing.

“How do you do, Mr. Purcel?” said he; “will you excuse me for about three minutes, till I finish this paragraph, after which I am at your service?”

“Certainly,” said Purcel, “I’m in no hurry, Fitzy, my boy.”

“Here,” continued the other, “amuse yourself with that paper.  By the way, there’s a flattering notice there of your humble servant, by our friend Swiggerly, who certainly is a man of sound judgment and ability.”

“I won’t interrupt you now,” replied the proctor; “but I will tell you my opinion of him by and by.”

The magistrate then proceeded to finish his paragraph, as he said, by his important manner of doing which, Purcel, who thoroughly understood him, was much amused.  He frequently paused for instance, placed his chin in the end of his half-closed hand, somewhat like an egg in an egg-cup, looked in a meditative mood into Purcel’s face, without appearing to see him at all; then went over to the library, which ought rather to have been pronounced his son’s than his; and after having consulted a book—­a Latin Horace, which by the way he opened at the art of poetry, of which volume it is, we presume, unnecessary to say, he did not understand a syllable, he returned to his desk seemingly satisfied, and wrote on until he had concluded the passage he was composing.  He read it once in silence, then nodded his head complacently, as if satisfied with what he had Written, after which he rubbed his hands and closing the desk exclaimed, “D—­n all governments, Mr. Purcel, and I wish to heaven there never had been a magistrate in Ireland.”

“Why, what kind of doctrine is this, Fitzy,” exclaimed his friend, “especially from such a loyal man and active magistrate as you are.”

“D—­n loyalty too, Mr. Purcel, it’s breakin’ my heart and will break it—­I think I’ll emigrate to America before they kill me here.”

“Why, to tell you the truth, my dear Fitzy, I was a good deal alarmed when I heard of that ugly notice you got; but it’s not every man would have borne the thing with such courage as you did.”