INGER'S.

This being done, every man pulled in his chair close to the table, and
prepared for serious action. It was plain that we all, like Nelson's
sailors at Trafalgar, felt called upon to do our duty. The wine
circulated with considerable rapidity; and there was no flinching on the
part of any individual of the company. It was quite needless for our
president to remind us of the necessity of bumpers, or the impropriety
of leaving heel-taps. We were all too well trained to require the
admonition, or to fall into the error. On the other hand, the chance of
any man obtaining more than his share in the round was infinitesimally
small. The Sergeant himself, celebrated as he is, could not have
succeeded in obtaining a glass more than his neighbours. Just to our
friends, we were also just to ourselves; and a more rigid circle of
philosophers never surrounded a board.

The wine was really good, and its merits did not appear the less
striking from the fact that we were not habitually winebibbers, our
devotion generally being paid to fluids more potent or more heavy than
the juice of the grape, and it soon excited our powers of conversation.
Heavens! what a flow of soul! More good things were said in Jack
Ginger's chambers that evening, than in the Houses of Lords and Commons
in a month. We talked of everything--politics, literature, the fine
arts, drama, high life, low life, the opera, the cockpit--everything
from the heavens above to the hells in St James's Street. There was not
an article in a morning, evening, or weekly paper for the week before,
which we did not repeat. It was clear that our knowledge of things in
general was drawn in a vast degree from these recondite sources. In
politics, we were harmonious--we were Tories to a man, and defied the
Radicals of all classes, ranks, and conditions. We deplored the ruin of
our country, and breathed a sigh over the depression of the agricultural
interest. We gave it as our opinion that Don Miguel should be King of
Portugal--and that Don Carlos, if he had the pluck of the most nameless
of insects, could ascend the throne of Spain. We pitched Louis Philippe
to that place which is never mentioned to ears polite, and drank the
health of the Duchess of Berri. Opinions differed somewhat about the
Emperor of Russia--some thinking that he was too hard on the
Poles--others gently blaming him for not squeezing them much tighter.
Antony Harrison, who had seen the Grand Duke Constantin