"Don't stop, my dear fellow," said the doctor; "that's the best song I have heard for a long time, and you must indulge me by finishing it--that's a gem." "Why, you see, doctor, they have all gone to supper." "Yes, and the devil choke them with it," said Growling, "for their want of taste; but never mind that: one judicious listener is worth a crowd of such fools, you'll admit; so sit down again and sing for me." The doctor seated himself as he spoke, and there he kept Reddy, who he knew was very fond of a good supper, singing away for the bare life, with only one person for audience, and that one humbugging him. The scene was rich; the gravity with which the doctor carried on the quiz was admirable, and the gullibility of the coxcomb who was held captive by his affected admiration exquisitely absurd and almost past belief; even Growling himself was amazed, as he threw in a rapturous "charming" or "bravissimo," at the egregious folly of his dupe, who still continued singing, while the laughter of the supper-room and the inviting clatter of its knives and forks were ringing in his ear. When Reddy concluded, the doctor asked might he venture to request the last verse again; "for," continued he, "there is a singular beauty of thought and felicity of expression in its numbers, leaving the mind unsatisfied with but one hearing; once more, if you please." Poor Reddy repeated the last verse. "Very charming, indeed!" said the doctor. "You really like it?" said Reddy. "Like?" said the doctor--"sir, _like_ is a faint expression of what I think of that song. Moore had better look to his laurels, sir!" "Oh, doctor!" "Ah, you know yourself," said Growling. "Then that last, doctor----?" said Reddy, inquiringly. "Is your most successful achievement, sir; there is a mysterious shadowing forth of something in it which is very fine." "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 Parnassus." "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 button. "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."