hion and blew
a tremendous blast.

[Illustration: FRANK WEBBER AT HIS STUDIES.]

"Come forth, ye demons of the lower world," said he, drawing a cloth from
a large table, and discovering the figures of three young men coiled up
beneath. "Come forth, and fear not, most timorous freshmen that ye are,"
said he, unlocking a pantry, and liberating two others. "Gentlemen, let
me introduce to your acquaintance Mr. O'Malley. My chum, gentlemen. Mr.
O'Malley, that is Harry Nesbitt, who has been in college since the days of
old Perpendicular, and numbers more cautions than any man who ever had his
name on the books. Here is my particular friend, Cecil Cavendish, the only
man who could ever devil kidneys. Captain Power, Mr. O'Malley, a dashing
dragoon, as you see; aide-de-camp to his Excellency the Lord Lieutenant,
and love-maker-general to Merrion Square West. These," said he, pointing to
the late denizens of the pantry, "are jibs whose names are neither known to
the proctor nor the police-office; but with due regard to their education
and morals, we don't despair."

"By no means," said Power; "but come, let us resume our game." At these
words he took a folio atlas of maps from a small table, and displayed
beneath a pack of cards, dealt as if for whist. The two gentlemen to whom
I was introduced by name returned to their places; the unknown two put on
their boxing gloves, and all resumed the hilarity which Dr. Mooney's advent
had so suddenly interrupted.

"Where's Moore?" said Webber, as he once more seated himself at his
breakfast.

"Making a spatch-cock, sir," said the servant.

At the same instant, a little, dapper, jovial-looking personage appeared
with the dish in question.

"Mr. O'Malley, Mr. Moore, the gentleman who, by repeated remonstrances to
the board, has succeeded in getting eatable food for the inhabitants of
this penitentiary, and has the honored reputation of reforming the commons
of college."

"Anything to Godfrey O'Malley, may I ask, sir?" said Moore.

"His nephew," I replied.

"Which of you winged the gentleman the other day for not passing the
decanter, or something of that sort?"

"If you mean the affair with Mr. Bodkin, it was I."

"Glorious, that; begad, I thought you were one of us. I say, Power, it was
he pinked Bodkin."

"Ah, indeed," said Power, not turning his head from his game, "a pretty
shot, I heard,--two by honors,--and hit him fairly,--the odd trick.
Hammersley mentioned the thing