among broken glasses,
cracked decanters, pyramids of jelly, and pagodas of blancmange, lay
scattered in every attitude the sleeping figures of the late guests.
Mrs. Rooney alone maintained her position, seated in a large chair, her
eyes closed, a smile of Elysian happiness playing upon her lips. Her
right arm hung gracefully over the side of the chair, where lately his
grace had kissed her hand at parting. Overcome, in all probability,
by the more than human happiness of such a moment, she had sunk into
slumber, and was murmuring in her dreams such short and broken phrases
as the following:--'Ah, happy day!--What will Mrs. Tait say?--The
lord mayor, indeed!--Oh, my poor head! I hope it won't be turned.--Holy
Agatha, pray for us! your grace, pray for us I--Isn't he a beautiful
man? Hasn't he the darling white teeth?'

[Illustration: 144]

'Where's Paul?' said O'Grady; 'where's Paul, Mrs. Rooney?' as he jogged
her rather rudely by the arm.

'Ah, who cares for Paul?' said she, still sleeping; 'don't be bothering
me about the like of him.'

'Egad! this is conjugal, at any rate,' said Phil

'I have him!' cried I; 'here he is!' as I stumbled over a short, thick
figure, who was propped up in a corner of the room. There he sat, his
head sunk upon his bosom, his hands listlessly resting on the floor.
A large jug stood beside him, in the concoction of whose contents he
appeared to have spent the last moments of his waking state. We shook
him, and called him by his name, but to no purpose; and, as we lifted up
his head, we burst out a-laughing at the droll expression of his face;
for he had fallen asleep in the act of squeezing a lemon in his teeth,
the half of which not only remained there still, but imparted to his
features the twisted and contorted expression that act suggests.

'Are you coming, O'Grady?' now cried the duke impatiently.

'Yes, my lord,' cried Phil, as he rushed towards the door. 'This is too
bad, Hinton: that confounded fellow could not possibly be moved. I'll
try and carry him.' As he spoke, he hurried back towards the sleeping
figure of Mr. Rooney, while I made towards the duke.

As Lord Dudley had gone to order up the carriages, his grace was
standing alone at the foot of the stairs, leaning his back against the
banisters, his eyes opening and shutting alternately as his head nodded
every now and then forward, overcome by sleep and the wine he had drunk.
Exactly in front of him, but crouching in th