mselves most innocent; for if I had gone
to sleep in my own arm-chair, pray who would have accused me of inebriety?

How I got home I know not. As I hurried through the streets, a legion of
voices, in every variety of intonation, yelled in my ears--"Turn him
out--he's drunk!" and when I woke in the middle of the night, tormented by
a raging thirst (produced, I suppose, by the flurry of spirits I had
undergone), I seemed to hear screams, groans, and hisses, above all which
predominated loud and clear the malignant denunciation--"Turn him
out--he's drunk!"

Upon my subsequently mentioning the above adventure to Jack Withers, it
will hardly be credited that this villain without shame at once roundly
asserted that, when I left him on the afore-mentioned night, I was at
least three sheets and three quarters in the wind; adding with
praiseworthy candour, that he himself was so far gone as to be obliged, to
the infinite scandal of his staid old housekeeper, to creep up stairs _a
quatre pieds_, in order to gain his bedroom.

Now this latter may be true enough, for it is probable that friend Jack
freshened his nip a trifle after my departure, seeing that he was always
something of a drunken knave. As for his calumnious and scandalous
declaration, that _I_ was in the least degree tipsy, it is too ridiculous
to be noticed. I scorn it with my heels--I was sober--sober, cool, and
steady as the north star; and he that is inclined to question this solemn
asseveration, let him send me his card; and if I don't drill a hole in his
doublet before he's forty-eight hours older, then, as honest Slender has
it, "I would I might never come in mine own great chamber again else."

* * * * *

"ARE YE SURE THE NEWS IS TRUE?"

We learn from good authority that Lord TAMBOFF STANLEY, in answer to a
deputation from Scotland, assured the gentlemen who waited upon him that
"the subject of _emigration_ was under the serious consideration of Her
Majesty's Ministers." We hope that those respectable gentlemen may soon
resolve upon their departure--we care not "what clime they wander to, so
not again to _this_;" or, as Shakspeare says, let them "stand not upon the
order of their going, but GO." The country, we take it upon ourselves to
say, will remember them when they are gone; they have left the nation too
many weighty proofs of their regard to be forgotten in a
hurry--Corruption, Starvation, and Taxation, and the Nati