Replies--
Replies--replies--replies, replies, replies.

(_After the manner of_ "Tell me where is fancy bred.")

"Very original!" said the doctor.

With willow wand
Upon the strand.
She wrote, with trembling heart and hand,
"The brave should ne'er
Desert the fair."
But the wave the moral washed away,
Ah, well-a-day! well-a-day!
A-day!--a-day!--a-day!

Reddy smiled and bowed, and thunders of applause followed; the doctor
shouted "Splendid!" several times, and continued to write and take
snuff voraciously, by which those who knew him could comprehend he was
bent on mischief.

"What a beautiful thing that is!" said one.

"Whose is it?" said another.

"A little thing of my own," answered Reddy, with a smile.

"I thought so," said Murphy. "By Jove, James, you _are_ a genius!"

"Nonsense!" smiled the poet; "just a little classic trifle--I think
_them_ little classic allusions is pleasing in general--Tommy Moore is
very happy in his classic allusions, you may remark--not that I, of
course, mean to institute a comparison between so humble an individual
as myself and Tommy Moore, who has so well been called 'the poet of all
circles, and the idol of his own;' and if you will permit me, in a
kindred spirit--I hope I _may_ say the kindred spirit of a song--in
that kindred spirit I propose _his_ health--the health of Tommy Moore!"

"Don't say _Tommy_!" said the doctor, in an irascible tone; "call the
man Tom, sir;--with all my heart, Tom Moore!"

The table took the word from Jack Growling, and "Tom Moore," with all
the honours of "hip and hurra!" rang round the walls of the village
inn--and where is the village in Ireland _that_ health has not been
hailed with the fiery enthusiasm of the land whose lays he hath "wedded
to immortal verse,"--the land which is proud of his birth, and holds
his name in honour?

There is a magic in a great name; and in this instance that of Tom
Moore turned the current from where it was setting, and instead of
quizzing the nonsense of the fool who had excited their mirth, every
one launched forth in praise of their native bard, and couplets from
his favourite songs rang from lip to lip.

"Come, Ned of the Hill," said Murphy, "sing us one of _his_ songs,--I
know you have them all as pat as your prayers."

"And says them oftener," said the doctor, who still continued
scribbling over the letter.

Edward, at the urgent