Macbeth you know."

"Yes," said I, somewhat relieved to find the conversation was not taking
the turn I dreaded.

"Well, sir," continued Fred, plunging at once "in medias res,"and speaking
very fast, "and we have come to the conclusion that you are the only
person to relieve us from all difficulty on the subject; Fitzgerald will
take your part of Banquo; and you shall have Lady Macbeth, a character for
which every one agrees you are admirably fitted."

"I play Lady Macbeth!" cried I, "with my scrubbing-brush of a beard, and
whiskers like a prickly-pear hedge; why, you mast be all mad to think of
such a thing."

"My dear friend," remarked Gahagan mildly, "you know I have always said
that you had the Kemble eye and nose, and I'm sure you won't hesitate
about cutting off your whiskers when so much depends upon it; they'll soon
grow again you know, Peter; as for your dark chin that don't matter a
rush, as Lady Macbeth is a dark woman."

The reader will agree with me in thinking that friendship can sometimes be
as blind as love, when I say with respect to my "Kemble eye and nose,"
that the former has been from childhood affected with a decided tendency
to strabismus, and the latter bears a considerably stronger resemblance to
a pump-handle than it does to the classic profile of John Kemble or any of
his family.

"Lieutenant Gahagan," said I, solemnly, "do you remember how, some six
years ago at Hydrabad, when yet beardless and whiskerless, the only hair