Our green flag glitters o'er us!"
"They are only a quotation, ma'am," said Reddy.
"Oh, like every man of true genius, sir, you try and undervalue your own work; but call them lines what you like, to my taste they are the most beautiful lines in the thing you done."
Reddy did not know what to answer, and his confusion was increased by catching old Growling's eye, who was chuckling at the mal-a-propos speech of the flourishing Mrs. Riley.
"Don't you sing yourself, sir?" said that lady.
"To be sure he does," cried the Widow Flanagan; "and he must give us one of his own."
"Oh!"
"No excuses; now, James!"
"Where's Duggan?" inquired the poetaster, affectedly; "I told him to be here to accompany me."
"I attend your muse, sir," said a miserable structure of skin and bone, advancing with a low bow and obsequious smile: this was the poor music-master, who set Reddy's rhymes to music as bad, and danced attendance on him everywhere.