s,
and departed.

"Now," said Horace, "do just tell me--what _is_ become of Hurst? how
didn't you bring him home?"

"Confound it!" said Miller, as he looked into all the jugs--"no whiskey
punch?"

"Oh, really I forgot it; here's bishop, and that brandy punch is very
good. But how didn't he come home with you?"

"Forgot it!" soliloquized Miller pathetically.

"Forgot it? how the deuce came you to forget it? and how will he come
now?" rejoined Horace.

"How came _you_ to forget it? I was talking about the whiskey punch,"
said Miller, as we all roared with laughter. "I couldn't bring Hurst,
you know, if he wouldn't come. He left the playhouse even before we did,
with some ladies--and we came away before it was over--so I sent up to
tell him we were going to start in ten minutes, and had a place for him;
and the Boots came down and said they had just had supper in, and the
gentleman could not possibly come just yet. Well, I sent up again, just
as we were ready harnessed, and then he threatened to kick Boots down
stairs."

"What a puppy!" said Horace.

"I don't quite agree with you there: I don't pretend to much sentiment
myself, as you are all aware; but with a lady _and_ a supper in the
case, I should feel perfectly justified in kicking down stairs any Boots
that ever wore shoes, if he hinted at my moving prematurely."

Miller's unusual enthusiasm amused us all except Horace. "Gad," said he,
at last, "I hope he won't be able to get home to-night at all!" In this
friendly wish he was doomed to be disappointed. It was now verging
towards twelve o'clock; the out-college members of the party had all
taken their leave; Miller and Fane, having finished their grilled
chicken at a little table in the corner, had now drawn round the fire
with the three or four of us who remained, and there was a debate as to
the expediency of brewing more punch, when we heard a running step in
the Quadrangle, which presently began to ascend the staircase in company
with a not very melodious voice, warbling in a style which bespoke the
owner's high state of satisfaction.

"Hush! That's Hurst to a certainty!"

"Queen of my soul, whose starlike eyes
Are all the light I seek"--

(Here came an audible stumble, as if our friend were beginning his way
down again involuntarily by half-a-dozen steps at a time.) "Hallo!
Leicester! just lend us a candle, will you? The lamp is gone out, and
it's as dark as pitch; I've dropped my hat."