" At his
suggestion, a committee was appointed to descend to the kitchen and
bring up provisions. Ned Abbot and Bill Ball performed this duty in the
most admirable and satisfactory manner. They departed for the lower
regions, and soon returned laden both with substantials and delicacies.
Then, such a feast!--or, rather, such a banquet! Champagne flowed like
water, for we had discovered a closet filled with baskets of the foaming
beverage. The whole company was of course soon in a state of glorious
elevation. The song and jest went round unceasingly, and peals of jovial
laughter trooped away like merry elves upon the midnight air. We were in
excellent humor to adopt the prayer of the following who said--

"Oh, let us linger late to-night,
Nor part while wit and song are bright;
And, Joshua, make the sun stand still,
That we of joy may have our fill!"

There was one gentleman who refused to participate in the festivities of
the occasion. This was little Uriah, the landlord, who gazed upon the
progress of the banquet with a troubled brow; yet he did not dare to
openly remonstrate, through fear of offending Mr. Pitt, and other
valuable boarders.

Unfortunately for the harmony of the festival, a party of drunken
students from Cambridge dropped in, and I instantly saw that a row was
inevitable. After unceremoniously helping themselves to drink, the
students gazed at our strange-looking company superciliously, and one of
them remarked with a sneer--

"What fools are these, dressed up in this absurd manner? Oh, they must
be monkies, the property of some enterprising organ-grinder. Let them
dance before me, for my soul is heavy, and I would be gay!"

Here little Billy Eaton, the writer, who was one of our party, fired up
and obligingly offered to fight and whip the man with the heavy soul,
for and in consideration of the trifling sum of one cent. This handsome
offer was accepted; but, before the gentlemen could strip for the
combat, a general collision took place between all the hostile parties.
Chairs were brandished, canes were flourished and decanters were hurled,
to the great destruction of mirrors and other fragile property. The bar
was overturned, and the din of battle was awful to hear. Notwithstanding
the uproar and confusion that prevailed, I could not help noticing poor
Uriah, who, in the dimly-lighted hall, was quietly dancing an insane
polka, accompanying his movements by low howls of despair. The littl