The first symptom of approaching cerebral excitement from the action of liquid stimulants is perceived in Mr. Muff himself, who tries to cut some cold meat with the snuffers.  Mr. Simpson also, a new man, who is looking very pale, rather overcome with the effects of his elementary screw in a first essay to perpetrate a pipe, petitions for the window to be let down, that the smoke, which you might divide with a knife, may escape more readily.  This proposition is unanimously negatived, until Mr. Jones, who is tilting his chair back, produces the desired effect by overbalancing himself in the middle of a comic medley, and causing a compound, comminuted, and irreducible fracture of three panes of glass by tumbling through them.  Hereat, the harmony experiencing a temporary check, and all the half-and half having disappeared, Mr. Muff finds there is no great probability of getting any more, as the servant who attends upon the seven different lodgers has long since retired to rest in the turn-down bedstead of the back kitchen.  An adjournment is therefore determined upon; and, collecting their hats and coats as they best may, the whole party tumble out into the streets at two o’clock in the morning.

“Whiz-z-z-z-z-t!” shouts Mr. Manhug, as they emerge into the cool air, in accents which only Wieland could excel; “there goes a cat!” Upon the information a volley of hats follow the scared animal, none of which go within ten yards of it, except Mr. Rapp’s, who, taking a bold aim, flings his own gossamer down the area, over the railings, as the cat jumps between them on to the water-butt, which is always her first leap in a hurried retreat.  Whereupon Mr. Rapp goes and rings the house-bell, that the domestics may return his property; but not receiving an answer, and being assured of the absence of a policeman, he pulls the handle out as far as it will come, breaks it off, and puts it in his pocket.  After this they run about the streets, indulging in the usual buoyant recreations that innocent and happy minds so situated delight to follow, and are eventually separated by their flight from the police, from the safe plan they have adopted of all running different ways when pursued, to bother the crushers.  What this leads to we shall probably hear next week, when they are once more reunis in the dissecting-room to recount their adventures.

* * * * *

It is said that the Duke of Wellington declined the invitation to the Lord Mayor’s civic dinner in the following laconic speech:—­“Pray remember the 9th November, 1830.”—­“Ah!” said Sir Peter Laurie, on hearing the Duke’s reply, “I remember it.  They said that the people intended on that day to set fire to Guildhall, and meant to roast the Mayor and Board of Aldermen.”—­“On the old system, I suppose, of every man cooking his own goose,” observed Hobler drily.

* * * * *

THE “PUFF PAPERS.”