lady, as Shakespeare says, you
are bringing up a neck for a fair end. Come, patron, we will drink to
Mr. What-shall-call-um. What is his name? Did you tell me? And have I
forgot it already.'

'Mr. Alan Fairford,' said Trumbull.

'Aye, Mr. Alan Fairford--a good name for a fair trader--Mr. Alan
Fairford; and may he be long withheld from the topmost round of
ambition, which I take to be the highest round of a certain ladder.'

While he spoke, he seized the punch-ladle, and began to fill the
glasses. But Mr. Trumbull arrested his hand, until he had, as he
expressed himself, sanctified the liquor by a long grace; during the
pronunciation of which he shut indeed his eyes, but his nostrils became
dilated, as if he were snuffing up the fragrant beverage with peculiar
complacency.

When the grace was at length over, the three friends sat down to their
beverage, and invited Alan Fairford to partake. Anxious about his
situation, and disgusted as he was with his company, he craved, and with
difficulty obtained permission, under the allegation of being fatigued,
heated, and the like, to stretch himself on a couch which was in
the apartment, and attempted at least to procure some rest before
high-water, when the vessel was to sail.

He was at length permitted to use his freedom, and stretched himself on
the couch, having his eyes for some time fixed on the jovial party he
had left, and straining his ears to catch if possible a little of their
conversation. This he soon found was to no purpose for what did actually
reach his ears was disguised so completely by the use of cant words and
the thieves-latin called slang, that even when he caught the words, he
found himself as far as ever from the sense of their conversation. At
length he fell asleep.

It was after Alan had slumbered for three or four hours, that he was
wakened by voices bidding him rise up and prepare to be jogging. He
started up accordingly, and found himself in presence of the same party
of boon companions; who had just dispatched their huge bowl of punch. To
Alan's surprise, the liquor had made but little innovation on the
brains of men who were accustomed to drink at all hours, and in the most
inordinate quantities. The landlord indeed spoke a little thick, and the
texts of Mr. Thomas Trumbull stumbled on his tongue; but Nanty was one
of those topers, who, becoming early what bon vivants term flustered,
remain whole nights and days at the same point of intoxic