‘Now tell me, Edwin, what was your motive for coming to see me this dull day. I’m mistaken if you had not some particular reason.’ ‘Why, my lord,’ replied the architect, blushing and looking down with an embarrassed air, ‘I can’t deny that I have.’ ‘What is it, then?’ replied my brother eagerly. ‘Have you been striking out some plan for a new public building? If so, let me see it directly.’ ‘No, my lord; my employment lately has been of another kind to that to which you allude. I have been wooing—’ ‘Wooing!’ interrupted the marquis. ‘What! you are going to be married, are you? Humph! I see it all now. On my conscience, it’s a perfect miracle how such a bashful fellow as you ever summoned courage to pop the question! But pray, what is the fair lady’s name?’ ‘Melpomene, the muse of tears!’ replied the modest Hamilton, blushing to the temples as he spoke. ‘In short, I’ve ventured hither to show your lordship a tragedy which I have written, called “Petus and Aria.”’ At these words the spirit of criticism began to sparkle in Arthur’s eye and the smile of sarcasm to curl his lip. Poor Hamilton shrunk together as he saw his patron gazing on him with that-cool, keen, composed aspect of contempt which he sometimes assumed in order to torture the wretches dependent on his favour. ‘A tragedy!’ he began. ‘Produce it by all means. But first tell me, Edwin, is it constructed in the Grecian or Gothic style of architecture? Or perhaps you may have invented a kind of composite order out of your own head?’ ‘Eh, my lord?’ murmured his hapless victim. ‘Petus and Aria,’ continued the unrelenting monster; ‘the former was, I believe, a somewhat timid and henpecked gentleman, whom for his arrant poltroonery I have always looked upon with supreme contempt; and the latter a strapping virago that showed herself particularly anxious to get her husband out of the world which he dishonoured. Queer materials these for a tragedy!’ To his observations Hamilton’s only answer was a look of imploring agony. Its silent eloquence, however, touched Arthur more nearly than words would have done. He smiled and said in a more encouraging tone than he had hitherto used: ‘Come, Edwin, dismiss that miserable expression from your face and let us see this notable play.’ With a trembling hand the architect drew the manuscript from his pocket and presented it to my brother. Half an hour of profound silence ensued, during which he continued to endure all the torments of suspense. At length the marquis laid it down, and the single word ‘Admirable!’ which escaped from his lips at once relieved Hamilton from a host of fears. ‘Are you in earnest, my lord?’ asked he. ‘Perfectly so; and as a proof of it I advise you to offer this play without loss of time to Mr. Price of the Theatre Royal. I will write a few lines in favour of it to him, and I do not doubt but that my recommendation will be sufficient to secure you handsome treatment in that quarter.’