CHAPTER XVI.
OF STRATAGEMS AND SPOILS; AND THAT THE NOMINALISTS ERR WHO HOLD A THING TO BE WHAT IT IS CALLED.
At two o'clock next morning Mr.Moggridge closed the door of his lodgings behind him, and stepping out into the street stood for some moments to ponder.
A smile sat upon his lips, witness to pleasure that underlies poetic pains.

The Collector of Customs was in humour this morning, and had written thirty lines of Act IV.

of _Love's Dilemma: a Comedy_, before breakfast, for it was his custom to rise early and drink regularly of the waters of Helicon before seeking his office.
It is curious that the Civil Service should so often divide its claims with the Service of the Muse.

I remember that the Honourable Frederic once drew my attention to this, and supplied me with several instances:--"There was What's-his-name, you know, and t'other Johnny up in the Lakes, and a heap I can't remember at the moment--fancy it must come from the stamps--licked off with the gum, perhaps." Be that as it may, Mr.Moggridge had written thirty lines this morning, and was even now, as he stood in the street and stared at the opposite house, repeating to himself a song he had just composed for his hero.

It is worth quoting, for, with slight alteration, I know no better clue to the poet's mood at the time.