"The scoundrels!" said Frank; but whether he meant the Scotchmen, or the friends, remains undecided.
"My friend Mr. Donkin, the celebrated epic poet, (the author of 'Mount Horeb,' you know,) thought my papers very funny, very; but 'Blackwood' actually rejected some poems of his, as well as a 'Dissertation on the conditions of the Intellectual Epopæ.' Do you write, sir?"
"Yes; letters."
Blundell was puzzled. He could not from Frank's manner detect whether this was a naïveté or a sarcasm.
"A very literary employment too," said Cecil, "according to the landlady of one of my friends. He was looking at apartments in Brighton, and before concluding, he asked his landlady whether she had other lodgers?
"'Only one gentleman, sir,' she said, 'rather an eccentric gentleman. I suppose you know him, sir, it's Mr. Shakspeare.'
"'I have not the pleasure of knowing Mr. Shakspeare.'
"'Don't you, sir? He's the great writer!'
"'Ah, the great writer!'
"'Yes; but lor, sir, writer as he is, he has only written two letters all the time he has been in my house!'