pulled Dr. Campbell's cane, on which he was leaning, and exclaimed,
"Doctor, I've just thought of an excellent plan for a tragedy!"

"A tragedy!" repeated Dr. Campbell, with unfeigned surprise; "are you
sure you don't mean a comedy?"

Forester persisted that he meant a tragedy, and was proceeding to open
the plot. "Don't force me to your tragedy now," said Dr. Campbell, "or it
will infallibly be condemned. I cannot say that I have my _buskin_ on!
and I advise you to take yours off. Look, is that the tragic muse?"

Forester was astonished to find, that so great a man as Dr. Campbell had
so little the power of abstraction; and he retired to muse upon the
opening of his tragedy in a recess under the music gallery. But here he
was not suffered long to remain undisturbed; for, near this spot, Sir
Philip Gosling presently stationed himself; Archibald Mackenzie, who
left off dancing as soon as Sir Philip entered the room, came to the
half-intoxicated baronet; and they, with some other young men, worthy of
their acquaintance, began so loud a contest concerning the number of
bottles of claret which a man might, could, or should drink at a sitting,
that even Forester's powers of abstraction failed, and his tragic muse
took her flight.

"Supper! Supper! thank God!" exclaimed Sir Philip, as supper was now
announced. "I'd never set my foot in a ballroom," added he, with several
suitable oaths, "if it were not for the supper."

"Is that a rational being?" cried Forester to Dr. Campbell, after Sir
Philip had passed them.