enraptured every woman in the room, a powerful voice, richly
flavoured with the brogue, shouted forth outside the door, "_Ma'am, if
you plaze, supper's sarved_." The effect was magical; a rush was made to
supper by the crowd in the doorway, and every gentleman in the little
drawing-room offered his arm to a lady, and led her off without the
smallest regard to Reddy's singing.

His look was worth anything as he saw himself thus unceremoniously
deserted and likely soon to be left in sole possession of the room; the
old doctor was enchanted with his vexation; and when James ceased to
sing, as the last couple were going, the doctor interposed his request
that the song should be finished.

"Don't stop, my dear fellow," said the doctor; "that's the best song I
have heard for a long time, and you must indulge me by finishing
it--that's a gem."

"Why, you see, doctor, they have all gone to supper."

"Yes, and the devil choke them with it," said Growling, "for their want
of taste; but never mind that: one judicious listener is worth a crowd
of such fools, you'll admit; so sit down again and sing for me."

The doctor seated himself as he spoke, and there he kept Reddy, who he
knew was very fond of a good supper, singing away for the bare life,
with only one person for audience, and that one humbugging him. The
scene was rich; the gravity with which the doctor carried on the quiz
was admirable, and the gullibility of the coxcomb who was held captive
by his affected admiration exquisitely absurd and almost past belief;
even Growling himself was amazed, as he threw in a rapturous "charming"
or "bravissimo," at the egregious folly of his dupe, who still continued
singing, while the laughter of the supper-room and the inviting clatter
of its knives and forks were ringing in his ear. When Reddy concluded,
the doctor asked might he venture to request the last verse again;
"for," continued he, "there is a singular beauty of thought and felicity
of expression in its numbers, leaving the mind unsatisfied with but one
hearing; once more, if you please."

Poor Reddy repeated the last verse.

"Very charming, indeed!" said the doctor.

"You really like it?" said Reddy.

"Like?" said the doctor--"sir, _like_ is a faint expression of what I
think of that song. Moore had better look to his laurels, sir!"

"Oh, doctor!"

"Ah, you know yourself," said Growling.

"Then that last, doctor----?" said Reddy, inquiringly.

"Is your most s