ent will cause me to be
_forfeited_, if not discharged. D----n those college students! What the
devil became of them? They all got clear, I suppose."

"No," said I--"they are in a separate apartment. Of course the officers
would not put them in with us, for that would be encouraging a renewal
of the fight."

"My head aches horribly," remarked Richard, Duke of Gloster--"I would
give my kingdom for a drink!"

"And I," observed Shylock--"would like a pound of flesh, providing it
were beefsteak, for I am almost famished."

"Hah! what a hog!" growled Cardinal Richelieu, one side of whose face
had been "cove in" most dreadfully--"to think of _eating_ at such a time
as this!"

"Hark," said Claude Melnott, whose handsome countenance had been knocked
completely out of shape, and who looked as if he had just returned from
the wars rather the worse for wear; "hark! Don't you hear the sound of
artillery, and of music? The ceremonies and festivities of the glorious
day have commenced. Would to Heaven that I were with Pauline, in our
palace on the lake of Como!"

"Dry up, you fool!" angrily exclaimed the aged and venerable King Lear,
whose nasal organ exhibited signs of its having sustained a violent
contusion--"I haven't closed an eye during the whole night, and now you
keep me awake with your infernal jabbering. Shut up, I say!"

"Oh, shut up be blowed!" said P. Jones--"how can a man shut up when he
thinks of the good _budge_ (rum) he loses by being shut up here? Rube
Meer, isn't this too bad?"

"Worse than the time when I sent on a fishing excursion with Jim Morse,"
groaned poor Rube, as he fumbled in his pocket for a match with which to
light his pipe, "has anybody got a rope with which a fellow could
contrive to hang himself?"

"I say, Jack Adams," said Sam Palmer, who was dressed as Don Caesar de
Bezas, "what will Harry Smith and old Kimball say, when we don't make
our appearance to-day, the busiest day in the whole year?"

"I care not," replied Jack, as he fondly pressed the portrait of his
Katy to his lips, "so long as this blessed consolation is left me, the
world may do its worst! Frown on, ye fiends of misfortune! I defy ye
all, so long as my Katy Darling remains but true!"

"That's the one!" shouted the bold Dick Brown, as "usher" at the
National Theatre, "let us have the song of Katy Darling, and all join in
the chorus."

This was done; and from the depths of that gloomy dungeon rolled forth
the words, in