"You like it better than the 'Black Stone'?"

"Pooh! sir; the 'Black Stone,' if I may be allowed an image, is but ordinary paving, while that 'Rose of Silence' of yours might strew the path to Parna.s.sus."

"And is it not strange, doctor," said Reddy, in a reproachful tone, "that _them_ people should be insensible to that song, and leave the room while I was singing it?"

"Too good for them, sir--above their comprehension."

"Besides, so rude!" said Reddy.

"Oh, my dear friend," said the doctor, "when you know more of the world, you'll find out that an appeal from the lower house to the upper," and he changed his hand from the region of his waistcoat to his head as he spoke, "is most influential."

"True, doctor," said Reddy, with a smile; "and suppose _we_ go to supper now."

"Wait a moment," said Growling, holding his b.u.t.ton. "Did you ever try your hand at an epic?"

"No, I can't say that I did."

"I wish you would."

"You flatter me, doctor; but don't you think we had better go to supper?"

"Ha!" said the doctor, "your own House of Commons is sending up an appeal--eh?"

"Decidedly, doctor."

"Then you see, my dear friend, you can't wonder at those poor inferior beings hurrying off to indulge their gross appet.i.tes, when a man of genius like you is not insensible to the same call. Never wonder again at people leaving your song for supper, Master James," said the doctor, resting his arm on Reddy, and sauntering from the room. "Never wonder again at the triumph of supper over song, for the Swan of Avon himself would have no chance against roast ducks."

Reddy smacked his lips at the word ducks, and the savoury odour of the supper-room which they approached heightened his antic.i.p.ation of an onslaught on one of the aforesaid tempting birds; but, ah! when he entered the room, skeletons of ducks there were, but nothing more; the work of demolition had been in able hands, and the doctor's lachrymose exclamation of "the devil a duck!" found a hollow echo under Reddy's waistcoat. Round the room that deluded minstrel went, seeking what he might devour, but his voyage of discovery for any hot fowl was profitless; and Growling, in silent delight, witnessed his disappointment.

"Come, sir," said the doctor, "there's plenty of punch left, however; I'll take a gla.s.s with you, and drink success to your next song, for the last is all I could wish;" and so indeed it was, for it enabled him to laugh at the poetaster, and cheat him out of his supper.

"Ho, ho!" said Murtough Murphy, who approached the door; "you have found out the punch is good, eh? 'Faith it is that same, and I'll take another gla.s.s of it with you before I go, for the night is cold."

"Are you going so soon?" asked Growling, as he clinked his gla.s.s against the attorney's.

"Whisht!" said Murphy, "not a word,--I'm slipping away after d.i.c.k the Divil; we have a trifle of work in hand quite in his line, and it is time to set about it. Good bye, you'll hear more of it to-morrow--snug's the word."

Murphy stole away, for the open departure of so merry a blade would not have been permitted, and in the hall he found d.i.c.k mounting a large top-coat and m.u.f.fling up.

"Good people are scarce, you think, d.i.c.k," said Murphy.

"I'd recommend you to follow the example, for the night is bitter cold, I can tell you."

"And as dark as a coal-hole," said Murphy, as he opened the door and looked out.

"No matter, I have got a dark lantern," said d.i.c.k, "which we can use when required; make haste, the gig is round the corner, and the little black mare will roll us over in no time."

They left the house quietly, as he spoke, and started on a bit of mischief which demands a separate chapter.