tful enthusiasm. When the song was over, Clive
held up his head too; looked round with surprise and pleasure in his
eyes; and we, I need not say, backed our friend, delighted to see him
come out of his queer scrape so triumphantly. The Colonel bowed and
smiled with very pleasant good-nature at our plaudits. There was
something touching in the naivetee and kindness of the placid and simple
gentleman.

Whilst the Colonel had been singing his ballad there had come into the
room a gentleman, by name Captain Costigan, who was in his usual
condition at this hour of the night. Holding on by various tables, he had
sidled up without accident to himself or any of the jugs and glasses
round about him, to the table where we sat, and seated himself warbling
the refrain of the Colonel's song. Then having procured a glass of
whiskey and water he gave what he called one of his prime songs. The
unlucky wretch, who scarcely knew what he was doing or saying, selected
the most offensive song in his repertoire. At the end of the second verse
the Colonel started up, clapping on his hat, seizing his stick, and
looking ferocious. "Silence!" he roared out.

"Hear, hear!" cried certain wags at a farther table. "Go on, Costigan!"
said others.

"Go on!" cries the Colonel in his high voice, trembling with anger. "Does
any gentleman say go on? Does any man who has a wife and sisters or
children at home, say go on? Do you dare, sir, to call yourself a
gentleman, and to say that you hold the King's commission, and to sit
amongst Christians and men of honour, and defile the ears of young boys
with this wicked balderdash?"

"Why do you bring young boys here, old boy?" cries a voice of the
malcontents.

"Why? Because I thought I was coming to a society of gentlemen," cried
out the indignant Colonel. "Because I never could have believed that
Englishmen could meet together and allow a man, and an old man, so to
disgrace himself. For shame, you old wretch! Go home to your bed, you
hoary old sinner! And for my part, I'm not sorry that my son should see,
for once in his life, to what shame and degradation and dishonour,
drunkenness and whiskey may bring a man. Never mind the change,
sir!--Curse the change!" says the Colonel, facing the amazed waiter.
"Keep it till you see me in this place again; which will be never--by
George, never!" And shouldering his stick, and scowling round at the
company of scared bacchanalians, the indignant gentleman stalked aw