1331.] The Man of Letters. 533 



" Sir !" quoth Mrs. Bluebusk, with a sort of petrifying accent, " I 

 ■was speaking of the poet." 



" Oh— ah— the poet !— and a very poor poet, too, ma am, m my 



opinion." 



" Jack '" again whispered my warning voice — ^but m vam. 



" IMilton a poor poet, sir !" exclaimed the Blue; " he is the ' god of 

 my idolatry.' Pray what part of him do you object to ?" 



" What part of him ?" muttered Jack to himself—" why, now she 

 must be gone back to the oysters again ;" and, having thus reassured 

 himself, he exclaimed—" The beard, ma'am." ^ 



" ]My dear sir," quoth his hostess, " what has that to do with IMilton s 

 poetry ? though, perhaps, you may be thinking of Samson Agomstes, 

 and object to the lines — 



' Then turned me out, ridiculous, despoiled,^ 

 Shaven, and disarmed among my enemies.' " 



" Very true, ma'am," cried Jack, catching at every straw ; "it is his 

 ridiculous poetry to which I object. Perhaps JMilton borrowed his idea 

 from 



' This is the priest, all shaven and shorn.' 



I think the passage is to be found in ' The House that Jack built.' " 



" You are building a pretty house. Master Jack," whispered I, in a 

 thousand trepidations. But this time luck was on our side. 



" I am afraid, Mr. Holland," cried la Bluebusk, " you are wUbng to 

 raise a laugh against my enthusiasm in behalf of Milton. Perhaps some 

 day you will run through his poems with me, and point out his failings. 

 But, pray, if you set your face against Milton, what poet do you recom- 

 mend for sublimity ?" 



" Shakspeare, Jack," whispered I ; but I was too late. 

 " Why, Falconer, to be sure, ma'am," cried he in a moment ;— " did 

 you never read his ' Shipwreck ?' " 



" Certainly, IMr. Holland." i . r. /. t, 



"Hip—hip— hurrah!" roared Jack, with a smile on his face tor the 



first time : " so have I ; and now we caji talk together a bit. Do you 



remember his whisthng wind, and creaking cordage— his mast over- 

 board, and his haul on the jib ? Damme'e, ma'am, that's something 



like poetry !" , /. • i i_ 



" Really, Captain Burton," said Mrs. Bluebusk, " your friend has a 

 most extraordinary taste ; I am afraid that you must have bitten him 

 with your sea-knowledge. I always understood that Falconer ranked as 



a fifth -rate writer." i i ■ i ■ 



" Fifth rate !" quoth Jack, indignantly—" no such thing ; he is a 



right-down first-rate man-of-war, stem and stern, with sails full set, 



and three tiers of guns in his broadside." ^ 



" Well, on your recommendation, I will read him again, cried 



Mrs. Bluebusk, half persuaded. " In the mean time, let us pass on to 



Shakspeare." ,,.,,. . n ^ 



" Scuttled again !" murmured Jack ; while I did this time find an 

 opportunity r)f whispering in his ear, " You must praise Shakspeare, 

 blow higl), blow low." Jack gave me a nod and a wmk, m iriendly 

 intimation of having heard and appreciated my advice. 



