This was the opinion volunteered by Mr Cheesham, who saw the musicians were giving symptoms of that tendency to discord for which they are proverbial, and threw out a sop to their vanity, which at once restored them to order. As he said himself, Mr Cheesham was no great judge of music, nor, indeed, of any of the fine arts. He had read little, and thought less; and yet, since he had become independent of the world, he was fond of assuming an air of knowledge, that was exceedingly amusing. There was nothing, for instance, that he liked better to be talking about than history; and, nevertheless, that Hannibal was killed at the battle of Drumclog, and Julius Cæsar beheaded by Henry the Eight, were facts which he would probably have had no hesitation in admitting, upon any reasonable representation. By this time, Mr Stukeley had joined the party, and was going his rounds, chatting, laughing, quizzing, and prosing, according to the different characters of the people whom he talked with. When he reached Mr Cheesham, he found him in earnest conversation with Mr Lilylipz regarding the ruins of Tinglebury, an abbey not far from Potterwell, of which the architecture was pronounced by Mr Lilylipz to be "_suttinly_ transcendent beyond anything. It is of that pure Græco-Gothic, which was brought over by William the Conqueror, and went out with the Saxons." Stukeley encouraged the conversation, drawing out the presumptuous ignorance of Mr Lilylipz and the rusty nomeanings of the parent Cheesham into strong relief. "Gentlemen, excuse me for breaking up your _tête-à-tête_. Have you got upon 'Shakspeare, taste, and the musical glasses?'" said Miss Emily, joining the trio. "Mr Lilylipz, your friend tells me you sing. Will you break the dulness, and favour us?" "Oh, I never do sing; and besides, I am suffering from hoarseness." "Come, come," replied Miss Emily, "none of these excuses, or we shall expect to find a very Braham, at least." "Now, _re_ally," remonstrated Mr Lilylipz. "Oh, never mind his nonsense, Miss Cheesham," exclaimed Mr Blowze, from the other side of the room. "Lilylipz sings an uncommonly good song when he likes. Give us 'the Rose of Cashmere,' or 'She wore a wreath of Roses.' Come away, now--no humbug!"