racterized 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 occasions, felt, as we before
said, strongly inclined to believe her guilty. He determined, however,
not to rest here, but to sift the matter to the bottom. He accordingly
heard from his cousin, and from several others, while in prison, such
details of the particulars, and such an authentic list of the persons
who were present, many of whom, owing to the ingenious malignity
of Poll Doolin, were friendly and favorable to the family--that he
privately sent for them, and on comparing the narratives one with the
other, he found the harmony among them so strong, that he gave up all
thoughts of her, save such as recurred involuntarily to his mind with
indignation and anguish. In addition to his other mortifications, it
happened that the second day after his release from imprisonment was
what the agents call "Gale day;" that is, the day upon which they get
into their chair of state, as it were, and in all the insolence of
office receive their rents, and give a general audience to the tenantry.
Phil, indeed, even more than the father, looked forward to these days
with an exultation of soul and a consciousness of authority, that fully
repaid him for all the insults, disasters, and tweakings of the nose,
which he was forced to suffer during the whole year besides. In truth,
nothing could equal, much less surpass, the Pistolian spirit by which
this lion-hearted gentleman was then animated. His frown, swagger,
bluster, and authoritative shakings of his head, the annihilating
ferocity of his look, and the inflated pomp of manner with which he
addressed them, and "damned