The aid now took his departure, with orders to his general of brigade; and a servant having appeared, the two distressed officers, still suffering from the effect of the revel, ordered a light breakfast of coffee, toast, and eggs, which, when they had quaffed the congress water, they devoured like true heroes, the superior officer being not a little surprised at the facility with which Major Roger Potter used his fingers, and discoursed of his wife, Polly’s, skill in preparing good breakfasts.  They then ordered their horses, the major giving particular directions how to saddle old Battle, to the end that he might carry a standing tail, which was rare with him.  He also directed that his own holsters be mounted, for, though they were shabby in appearance, no soldier could fail to see that they had seen a deal of service, and would admire them the more for it.

And now, gentle reader, lest you be deceived in either of my military heroes, I will just mention, that the major retired to his own room, and, having habited himself in his well worn uniform, joined General Benthornham, who had also got himself into his uniform, and taken up a position at the table, armed, not with his sword, but a corpulent decanter, from which he was filling his glass.  The major never refused an invitation to join in a service held so laudable by the profession, and filled his glass also.  And so strong was the beverage, that not many minutes had elapsed when they found it extremely difficult to take a forward move without oscillating from the line.  As, however, the brigade was made up of gentlemen, and not fighting soldiers, the general suddenly remembered that it would not do to keep them waiting; and, taking the major by the arm, they toddled (as if the floor were unsafe for such good men to tread upon) down stairs, into the front hall, to the no small delight of the numerous bystanders, who gave them all the room required by their high positions.

And now, when the grooms brought the horses to the door, they were astonished that so famous a major should ride an animal so shattered in his appearance, and also travel with a pig who could match the devil in cutting up antics.  They therefore stood viewing him with intense anxiety; and, as old Battle had the spring halt in his near hind leg, they were sure the major, when mounted, must cut a figure rarely presented in Broadway.  And among the grooms there was one Bob Totten, a man born and reared in Barnstable, and who had, many years ago, been a fellow cordwainer in the same shop with the major.  “Faith,” said he, in a voice loud enough to be heard by several of the bystanders, “it’s old Roger Potter, or my eyes deceive me, and he used to follow the trade of tin peddling.”