'You'll not like it, Sir,' said Devereux, mischievously: 'but there really is a capital one--quite of another kind--a lenten dish--fish, you know, Puddock--the one you described yesterday; but Mr. Loftus has, I think, a still better way.' 'Have you, Sir?' asked Puddock, who had a keen appetite for knowledge. 'I don't know, Captain Puddock,' murmured Loftus, bewildered. 'What is it?' remarked his reverence, shortly. 'A roast roach,' answered Puddock, looking quite innocently in that theologian's fiery face. '_Thank_ you,' said Father Roach, with an expression of countenance which polite little Puddock did not in the least understand. 'And how _do you_ roast him--we know Loftus's receipt,' persisted Devereux, with remarkable cruelty. 'Just like a lump,' said Puddock, briskly. 'And how is that?' enquired Devereux. 'Flay the lump--splat him--divide him,' answered Puddock, with great volubility; 'and cut each side into two pieces; season with salt, pepper, and nutmeg, and baste with clarified butter; dish him with slices of oranges, barberries, grapes, gooseberries, and butter; and you will find that he eats deliriously either with farced pain or gammon pain.' This rhapsody, delivered with the rapidity and emphasis of Puddock's earnest lisp, was accompanied with very general tokens of merriment from the company, and the priest, who half suspected him of having invented it, was on the point of falling foul of him, when Lord Castlemallard rose to take leave, and the general forthwith vacated the chair, and so the party broke up, fell into groups, and the greater part sauntered off to the Phoenix, where, in the club-room, they, with less restraint, and some new recruits, carried on the pleasures of the evening, which pleasures, as will sometimes happen, ended in something rather serious. CHAPTER VII. SHOWING HOW TWO GENTLEMEN MAY MISUNDERSTAND ONE ANOTHER, WITHOUT ENABLING THE COMPANY TO UNDERSTAND THEIR QUARREL. Loftus had by this time climbed to the savage lair of his garret, overstrewn with tattered papers and books; and Father Roach, in the sanctuary of his little parlour, was growling over the bones of a devilled-turkey, and about to soothe his fretted soul in a generous libation of hot whiskey punch. Indeed, he was of an appeasable nature, and on the whole a very good fellow.