shed as red as a peony. I felt for
the young lad, and thought what my own sensations would have been if,
in that place, my own uncle, Major Pendennis, had suddenly proposed to
exert his lyrical powers.

The Colonel selected the ditty of "Wapping Old Stairs" (a ballad so
sweet and touching that surely any English poet might be proud to be
the father of it), and he sang this quaint and charming old song in
an exceedingly pleasant voice, with flourishes and roulades in the old
Incledon manner, which has pretty nearly passed away. The singer gave
his heart and soul to the simple ballad, and delivered Molly's gentle
appeal so pathetically that even the professional gentlemen hummed and
buzzed--a sincere applause; and some wags who were inclined to jeer at
the beginning of the performance, clinked their glasses and rapped their
sticks with quite a respectful enthusiasm. When the song was over, Clive
held up his head too; after the shock of the first verse, looked round
with surprise and pleasure in his eyes; and we, I need not say, backed
our friend, delighted to see him come out of his queer scrape
so triumphantly. The Colonel bowed and smiled with very pleasant
good-nature at our plaudits. It was like Dr. Primrose preaching his
sermon in the prison. There was something touching in the naivete and
kindness of the placid and simple gentleman.

Great Hoskins, placed on high, amidst the tuneful choir, was pleased
to signify his approbation, and gave his guest's health in his usual
dignified manner. "I am much obliged to you, sir," says Mr. Hoskins;
"the room ought to be much obliged to you: I drink your 'ealth and
song, sir;" and he bowed to the Colonel politely over his glass of
brandy-and-water, of which he absorbed a little in his customer's
honour. "I have not heard that song," he was kind enough to say, "better
performed since Mr. Incledon sung it. He was a great singer, sir, and I
may say, in the words of our immortal Shakspeare, that, take him for all
in all, we shall not look upon his like again."

The Colonel blushed in his turn, and turning round to his boy with an
arch smile, said, "I learnt it from Incledon. I used to slip out from
Grey Friars to hear him, Heaven bless me, forty years ago; and I used to
be flogged afterwards, and serve me right too. Lord! Lord! how the time
passes!" He drank off his sherry-and-water, and fell back in his chair;
we could see he was thinking about his youth--the golden time--the
ha