I verily believe that a fair description—­none of your poetical balderdash, but an honest plodding description of a perfectly comfortable bed, and of the process of going to sleep, would, judiciously administered soon after dinner, overpower the vivacity of any tranquil gentleman who loves a nap after that meal—­gently draw the curtains of his senses, and extinguish the bed-room candle of his consciousness.  In the doctor’s address and quotation there was so much about somnolency and narcotics, and lying dormant, and opiates, that my Lord Castlemallard’s senses forsook him, and he lost, as you, my kind reader, must, all the latter portion of the doctor’s lullaby.

‘I’d give half I’m pothethed of, Thir, and all my prothpecth in life,’ lisped vehemently plump little Lieutenant Puddock, in one of those stage frenzies to which he was prone, ’to be the firtht Alecthander on the boardth.’

Between ourselves, Puddock was short and fat, very sentimental, and a little bit of a gourmet; his desk stuffed with amorous sonnets and receipts for side-dishes; he, always in love, and often in the kitchen, where, under the rose, he loved to direct the cooking of critical little plats, very good-natured, rather literal, very courteous, a chevallier, indeed, sans reproche.  He had a profound faith in his genius for tragedy, but those who liked him best could not help thinking that his plump cheeks, round, little light eyes, his lisp, and a certain lack-a-daisical, though solemn expression of surprise, which Nature, in one of her jocular moods, seemed to have fixed upon his countenance, were against his shining in that walk of the drama.  He was blessed, too, with a pleasant belief in his acceptance with the fair sex, but had a real one with his comrades, who knew his absurdities and his virtues, and laughed at and loved him.

’But hang it, there ’th no uthe in doing things by halves.  Melpomene’s the most jealous of the Muses.  I tell you if you stand well in her gratheth, by Jove, Thir, you mutht give yourthelf up to her body and thoul.  How the deuthe can a fellow that’s out at drill at hicth in the morning, and all day with his head filled with tacticth and gunnery, and—­and—­’

’And ‘farced pigeons’ and lovely women,’ said Devereux.

‘And such dry professional matterth,’ continued he, without noticing, perhaps hearing the interpolation, ’How can he pothibly have a chance againth geniuses, no doubt—­vathly thuperior by nature’—­(Puddock, the rogue, believed no such thing)—­’but who devote themthelveth to the thtudy of the art incethantly, exclusively, and—­and——­’