Phil, who was imperturbably good-natured, did as he was told. He opened his mouth to a preternatural size, turned one eye to the ceiling, and the other down to the floor, till Sir Bryan was in ecstasies at his achievement. He then sprang to an incredible height in that air, and danced once or twice through the hall, throwing himself into the most grotesque attitudes imaginable, and the table was nearly shaken in pieces by the thumpings with which the party showed their satisfaction.
"Now then, Phil; here's a cup of sherry-wine—drink it, boy, and sing a sweet song to the lady," said Reginald.
"Songs are an invention of the devil," said Mr Peeper.
"Unless they are sung through the nose," said Mr Lutter, with a sneer.
"You approve of songs then?" inquired Mr Peeper, with a fierce look.
"Certainly," said Mr Lutter, "when their subject is good, and the language modest."
"Then you are an atheist," retorted Mr Peeper.
"What has a ballad to do with atheism?" enquired Mr Lutter, looking angry.
"You approve of wicked songs, and therefore are an atheist."
"A man is more like an atheist," retorted Mr Lutter, "who is ungrateful to God for the gift of song, and shuts up the sweetest avenue by which the spirit approaches its Creator. I admire poetry, and respect poets."