ry lying
out in the moonlight, and waiting for them when, as poor maddened Edgar
Allen Poe wrote, the "fever called living," should be "over at last."
But who talks of dying on this one night in all the year when even that
old freemason in the refractory ward was forgetting, after his own
peculiar fashion, the cruel injustice that kept him out of his twelve
thousand a year and title? Universal merriment is the rule to-night. Six
or seven gentlemen are on their legs at once making speeches, which are
listened to about as respectfully as the "toast of the evening" at a
public dinner. As many more are singing inharmoniously different songs;
the fun is getting fast and furious, perhaps a little too fast and
furious, when a readjournment to the ball-room is proposed, and readily
acceded to, one hoary-headed old flirt remarking to me as he went by,
that he was going to look for his sweetheart.

A long series of square dances followed, the graduate waxing more and
more fierce at each disappointment in his anticipated valse, and Billy
giving out every change in the programme like a parish clerk, which
functionary he resembled in many respects. It was universally agreed
that this was the best party that had ever been held in the asylum, just
as the last baby is always the finest in the family. Certainly the
guests all enjoyed themselves. The stalwart attendants danced more than
ever with a will, the rosy attendants were rosier and nattier than
before, if possible. The mob-cap went whizzing about on the regal head
of its owner down the middle of tremendous country dances, hands across,
set to partners, and then down again as though it had never tasted the
anxieties of a throne, or learnt by bitter experience the sorrows of
exile. Even the academical gentleman relaxed to the fair organist,
though he stuck up his hair stiffer than ever, and stamped his felt
boots again as he passed the unoffending double-bass with curses both
loud and deep on the subject of square dances. At length came the
inevitable "God Save the Queen," which was played in one key by the
orchestra, and sung in a great many different ones by the guests. It is
no disrespect to Her Majesty to say that the National Anthem was
received with anything but satisfaction. It was the signal that the
"jinks" were over, and that was quite enough to make it unpopular.
However, they sang lustily and with a good courage, all except the old
woman in the mob-cap, who sat with a c