Unhappily the other member of the Government, who had hitherto been
silent, was a literary man. Unhappily, while this talk had proceeded, he
had placed his hand upon Randal Leslie's celebrated pamphlet, which lay
on the library table; and, turning over the leaves, the whole spirit and
matter of that masterly composition in defence of the administration (a
composition steeped in all the essence of party) recurred to his too
faithful recollection. He, too, liked Randal; he did more,--he admired
the author of that striking and effective pamphlet. And therefore,
rousing himself from the sublime indifference he had before felt for the
fate of a subaltern, he said, with a bland and complimentary smile, "No;
the writer of this most able publication is no ordinary placeman. His
opinions here are too vigorously stated; this fine irony on the very
person who in all probability will be the chief in his office has excited
too lively an attention to allow him the /sedet eternumque sedebit/ on an
official stool. Ha, ha! this is so good! Read it, L'Estrange. What
say you?" Harley glanced over the page pointed out to him. The original
was in one of Burley's broad, coarse, but telling burlesques, strained
fine through Randal's more polished satire. It was capital. Harley
smiled, and lifted his eyes to Randal. The unlucky plagiarist's face was
flushed,--the beads stood on his brow. Harley was a good hater; he loved
too warmly not to err on the opposite side; but he was one of those men
who forget hate when its object is distressed and humbled. He put down
the pamphlet and said, "I am no politician; but Egerton is so well known
to be fastidious and over-scrupulous in all points of official etiquette,
that Mr. Leslie cannot follow a safer counsellor."

"Read that yourself, Egerton," said Sir ----; and he pushed the pamphlet
to Audley.

Now Egerton had a dim recollection that that pamphlet was unlucky; but he