eat hurry. "It was a private letter, no
doubt."

"It was poetry. There's no need for you to hurry, my friend. It was more
than mere poetry, it was in Latin. I read the first line on the page,
and it ran, '_Te, dum spernit, arat novus accola; max ubi cultam_--'"

Gaydon tore his arm away from Misset. "I'll hear no more of it," he
cried. "Poetry is none of my business."

"There, Dick, you are wrong," said O'Toole, sententiously. Both Misset
and Gaydon came to a dead stop and stared. Never had poetry so strange
an advocate. O'Toole set his great legs apart and his arms akimbo. He
rocked himself backwards and forwards on his heels and toes, while a
benevolent smile of superiority wrinkled across his broad face from ear
to ear. "Yes, I've done it," said he; "I've written poetry. It is a
thing a polite gentleman should be able to do. So I did it. It wasn't in
Latin, because the young lady it was written to didn't understand Latin.
Her name was Lucy, and I rhymed her to 'juicy,' and the pleasure of it
made her purple in the face. There were to have been four lines, but
there were never more than three and a half because I could not think of
a suitable rhyme to O'Toole. Lucy said she knew one, but she would never
tell it me."

Wogan's poetry, however, was of quite a different kind, and had Gaydon
looked at it a trifle more closely, he would have experienced some
relief. It was all about the sorrows and miseries of his unfortunate
race and the cruel oppression of England. England owed all its great men
to Ireland and was currish enough never to acknowledge the debt. Wogan
always grew melancholy and grave-faced on that subject when he had the
leisure to be idle. He thought bitterly of the many Irish officers sent
into exile and killed in the service of alien countries; his sense of
injustice grew into a passionate sort of despair, and the despair
tumbled out of him in sonorous Latin verse written in the Virgilian
measure. He wrote a deal of it during this month of waiting, and a long
while afterwards sent an extract to Dr. Swift and received the great
man's compliments upon its felicity, as anyone may see for himself in
the doctor's correspondence.

How the month passed for James Stuart in Rome may be partly guessed from
a letter which was brought to Wogan by Michael Vezozzi, the Chevalier's
body-servant.

The letter announced that King George of England had offered the
Princess Clementina a dowry of L100,000 if she would