and _luminies_, and other pastimes, which he thinks would make very clever books; and if any one can do the job, he is the hand; but I need not mention him to you,--you know Dr. Scribble.” “Yes, yes,” says Dicky, “he knows me.” “That I do,” replied Hamilton, “most thoroughly.” “And I will venture to say,” rejoined Scribble, “that he has a just value for me.” “That you may safely affirm,” said the other. “But,” continued the Doctor, “what we particularly want with you, is to do us _justice in the reviews_ and conversation, _by speaking very highly_ of the work. I have already written a specimen; it is the translation of a play, one of the finest that ever entered into the human imagination to conceive; it is the story of Hurlobothrumbo, a Spanish hero, who sets off to the war with the Moors in Andalusia, with four attendants; he overcomes fifteen thousand, enters the city of the enemy alone, encounters twenty thousand, formed in a hollow square, in one of their narrow streets.” “Very well,” said Hamilton, “that’s a good idea.” “He couches his lance, charges the first five thousand that extended across the lane; defeats them; takes the city by storm.” “That was a great hero,” said Jeffery. “Yes,” said Scribble, “I will defy any writer but a German to think of such a hero.” “Oh do not,” said Hamilton, “disparage our own country too much;--what think you of Drawcansir?” “You know, Hamilton,” said Scribble, with much pomposity, “I do not like jesting upon serious subjects; I have often given my admonitions upon that topic.” “Which I hold in due estimation,” replied Hamilton. “But you do not always attend to them,” rejoined Scribble, a little sharply. “That does not contradict my position,” said the other. Scribble taking this as a compliment, proceeded, “Hurlobothrumbo sets all the prisoners free, returns to his own country, finds his mistress confined in a castle, guarded by a thousand giants, with one more enormous and fierce than all the rest, breaks through seven iron gates, kills the head giant, and five hundred more. The five hundred and second, with the other four hundred and ninety-eight, disheartened by the fall of their master and companions, yield to the heroic conqueror. He learns that his old father is somewhere confined in a dungeon, that nobody knows where but the ghost of a female, that at midnight amuses herself with playing a pibrach upon a Scotch bagpipe, accompanied by two others, performing on the hurdy-gurdy and the Jew’s harp. It is said, by the now subjected giants, to be reported, that the head ghost will answer no questions, unless a tune is hit to her mind. Various airs had been tried, but to no effect. The hero swears he will venture, though a hundred ghosts assail. Midnight arrives, and a dark and gloomy night it is. Hurlobothrumbo goes to the _oratory_, which all know is the favourite walk[4] of ghosts, and there he meets the three apparitions; the head one in a white silk negligee and petticoat; the other two in muslin.