A suggestion so reasonable could not well be resisted; and, with the best disposition in the world toward sobriety, Brooks was persuaded to assent to the measure.  Unhappily, however, for the pedler, the measure was so grateful to Tongs, that, before the former could officiate, the latter, with a desperate effort, reached forward, and, possessing himself of his own glass, he thrust another, which happened to be the only undrugged one, and which Bunce had filled for himself, into the grasp of the jailer.  The glass designed for Brooks was now in the pedler’s own hands, and no time was permitted him for reflection.  With a doubt as to whether he had not got hold of the posset meant for his neighbor, Bunce was yet unable to avoid the difficulty; and, in a moment, in good faith, the contents of the several glasses were fairly emptied by their holders.  There was a pause of considerable duration; the several parties sank back quietly into their seats; and, supposing from appearances that the effect of the drug had been complete, the pedler, though feeling excessively stupid and strange, had yet recollection enough to give the signal to his comrade.  A moment only elapsed, when Munro entered the apartment, seemingly unperceived by all but the individual who had called him; and, as an air of considerable vacancy and repose overspread all the company he naturally enough concluded the potion had taken due hold of the senses of the one whom it was his chief object to overcome.  Without hesitation, therefore, and certainly asking no leave, he thrust one hand into the bosom of the worthy jailer, while the other was employed in taking a sure hold of his collar.  To his great surprise, however, he found that his man suffered from no lethargy, though severely bitten by the drink.  Brooks made fierce resistance; though nothing at such a time, or indeed at any time, in the hands of one so powerfully built as Munro.

“Hello! now—­who are you, I say?  Hands off!—­Tongs!  Tongs!—­Hands off!—­Tongs, I say—­”

But Tongs heard not, or heeded not, any of the rapid exclamations of the jailer, who continued to struggle.  Munro gave a single glance to the pedler, whose countenance singularly contrasted with the expression which, in the performance of such a duty, and at such a time, it might have been supposed proper for it to have worn.  There was a look from his eyes of most vacant and elevated beatitude; a simper sat upon his lips, which parted ineffectually with the speech that he endeavored to make.  A still lingering consciousness of something to be done, prompted him to rise, however, and stumble toward the landlord, who, while scuffling with the jailer, thus addressed him:—­

“Why, Bunce, it’s but half done!—­you’ve bungled.  See, he’s too sober by half!”

“Sober? no, no—­guess he’s drunk—­drunk as a gentleman.  I say, now—­what must I do?”

“Do?” muttered the landlord, between his teeth, and pointing to Tongs, who reeled and raved in his seat, “do as I do!” And, at the word, with a single blow of his fist, he felled the still refractory jailer with as much ease as if he had been an infant in his hands.  The pedler, only half conscious, turned nevertheless to the half-sleeping Tongs, and resolutely drove his fist into his face.