'I have not read them,' said Neigh, secretly wrestling with his jaw, to
prevent a yawn; 'but I suppose I must. The truth is, that I never care
much for reading what one ought to read; I wish I did, but I cannot help
it. And, no doubt, you admire the lady immensely for writing them: I
don't. Everybody is so talented now-a-days that the only people I care
to honour as deserving real distinction are those who remain in
obscurity. I am myself hoping for a corner in some biographical
dictionary when the time comes for those works only to contain lists of
the exceptional individuals of whom nothing is known but that they lived
and died.'

'Ah--listen. They are going to sing one of her songs,' said his friend,
looking towards a bustling movement in the neighbourhood of the piano. 'I
believe that song, "When tapers tall," has been set to music by three or
four composers already.'

'Men of any note?' said Neigh, at last beaten by his yawn, which courtesy
nevertheless confined within his person to such an extent that only a few
unimportant symptoms, such as reduced eyes and a certain rectangular
manner of mouth in speaking, were visible.

'Scarcely,' replied the other man. 'Established writers of music do not
expend their energies upon new verse until they find that such verse is
likely to endure; for should the poet be soon forgotten, their labour is
in some degree lost.'

'Artful dogs--who would have thought it?' said Neigh, just as an exercise
in words; and they drew nearer to the piano, less to become listeners to
the singing than to be spectators of the scene in that quarter. But
among some others the interest in the songs seemed to be very great; and