‘Sympathise with you? When was son of the Muses indifferent to the love wound of his friend? Have we not always sympathised with one another? Does any one except yourself admire your poetry as much as I do? Can I anywhere find a friend more capable of appreciating the higher flights of mine than _you_? I have done a good deal, by-the-bye, in that way since I saw you last, Erin; not to mention six cantos of “The Spy-glass,” I have written one-and-twenty songs; some of them may be useful to you if your inspiration has flagged of late, for they are all to my mistress—whose name, like yours, is fortunately in three syllables—a madrigal or two, and a number of miscellaneous pieces, chiefly satirical. To-morrow—you said to-morrow, I think—we will devote to recitation.’ William Henry’s countenance fell. He had heard Mr. Reginald Talbot’s recitations before. They were not extempore, but they had one fatal attribute in common with extemporaneous effusions—there was no knowing where they would end. If he had been invited to recite his own poetry, that would have been a different thing. ‘Nothing would be more agreeable to me, my dear fellow, but how am I to excuse my absence from chambers?’ ‘Then I’ll come to your chambers instead of your coming to me; I shall thus have the opportunity of seeing how _your_ muse has progressed; we will compare notes together. To be sure, it is not as if you had your room to yourself; there’s that disagreeable fellow-clerk of yours, a most unappreciative and flippant person.’ ‘Yes, he would spoil everything,’ put in William Henry eagerly. ‘It is better we should be alone together, even for a less time, at the “Blue Boar.”’ ‘Very good; then give me as long as you can to-morrow. I want your advice, for the fact is, the business on which I am come up to town is about the publication of my poems. The publisher and I cannot agree about terms, which seems strange, since what we both want is money down. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind my selecting a few of your very best—you and I could rig out a twin volume together, like Beaumont and Fletcher.’ ‘Perhaps,’ observed William Henry dubiously.