“Aint you happy to-night, Clara!  Aint you, old girl!” he said, in a loud voice, striking her with his open hand upon the shoulder.  “I’m so happy that I feel just ready to jump out of my skin!  Whoop!—­Now see how beautifully I can cut a pigeon’s-wing.”

And he sprang from his seat, and commenced describing the elegant figure he had named, with industrious energy, much to the amusement of one portion of the company, but to the painful mortification of another.  A circle was soon formed around him, to witness his graceful movements, which strongly reminded those present who had witnessed the performances, of a corn-field negro’s Juba, or the double-shuffle.

“Come,” old Mr. Manley said, interrupting the young man in his evolutions, by laying his hand upon his arm.

“Come!  I want you a moment.”

“Hel-lel-lel-lo, o-o, there!  What’s wanting? ha!” he said, pausing, and then staggering forwards against Mr Manley.  “Who are you, sir?”

“For shame, sir!” the old man replied in a stern voice.  “Come with me, I wish to speak to you.”

“Speak here, then, will you?  I’ve no se-se-secrets.  I’m open and above board!  Jim Haley’s the boy that knows what he’s about!  Who-o-o-oop!  Clear the track there!”

And starting away from the old man, he ran two or three paces, and then sprang clear over the head of a young lady, frightening her almost out of her wits.

“There!  Who’ll match me that?  Jim Haley’s the boy what’s hard to beat!  Whoo-oo-oop, hurrah!  But where’s Clara?  Where’s my dear little wifie?  Ah! there—­No, that isn’t her, neither.  Wh-wh-where is the little jade?”

The whole of this passed in a few moments, with all the drunken gestures required to give it the fullest effect.

Poor Clara, at first mortified, when she saw what a perfect madman her husband had become, was so shocked that her feelings overcame her, and she was carried fainting from the room.  O, how bitter was her momentary repentance of her blind folly, ere her bewildered senses forsook her.

As for Haley, he grew worse and worse, until the brandy which he continued to pour down, had completely stupified him, when he was carried off to bed in a state of drunken insensibility; after which, the company retired in oppressive and embarrassed silence.

Sad and lonely was the bridal chamber that night, and the couch of the young bride was wet with bitter, but unavailing tears.

On the next morning, those who first entered the room where Haley had slept, found it empty.  Towards the middle of the day, a letter was left for Clara by an unknown hand.  It ran thus: