Even the guard was moderately supplied, and the sentries alone, pacing to and fro in their limited walk, felt the bitterness of privation, as they counted the minutes that must elapse before they could join in the festivities which the loud voice and ringing laugh, occasionally wafted to their ears, told them were in progress.

In the rooms of the commanding officer there was more than the usual manifestation of the anniversary.  All had dined at an early hour, but a large side-board that stood in one corner of the council room—­always fitted up on these occasions—­was covered with vases containing wines, liqueurs, juleps, and punches of various kinds—­the latter the work of the indefatigable son of Esculapius, and of these the host and his guests partook freely, in commemoration of the day.  At the opposite end of the room had been raised a sort of tribune for the orator of the day, but as it was intended the address should be impromptu, no name had been mentioned, nor could any one know, until the moment when the majority of voices should select him on whom the office was to devolve.  In the fear entertained by each that he should be the party selected, the glass, to impart the necessary courage, was not spared.  But he who was not in the room, or of the number of those devoted to the punch-bowl was the person chosen.  As if by one impulsive consent, Ronayne, who was seated in the inner room, and discoursing of any thing but politics to his betrothed, found himself loudly called upon—­knew it was in vain to object—­and reluctantly rose in obedience to the summons.

“Come young gentleman,” said Captain Headley, entering with an air of gaiety by no means usual to him, “you are, it appears, in all things,” and he bowed significantly to Maria Heywood, “the chosen of the evening—­but recollect,” he added, as he drew his arm through his own, and proceeded towards the larger apartment where Ronayne was awaited, “as you acquit yourself of your duty, so shall I of mine.”

“I shall do my best, sir,” replied the youth, in the same light tone, “but of the two orations, I know which will be the best suited to my own taste.”

The other ladies, with the exception of Mrs. Heywood, had also risen, and now stood grouped near Captain Headley, who, with Maria Heywood on his arm, leaned against the door-way separating the two rooms—­while Ronayne, amid cheers and congratulations, made his way to the tribune, at the farther end of the apartment.

His address was necessarily not long—­for independently of the impatience he could not but entertain at that moment of all subjects but that nearest his heart, he was by no means ambitious of making a display of his powers of elocution.  Yet, notwithstanding this, he treated his theme in so masterly a manner, and in such perfectly good taste, omitting all expressions of that rancor towards Great Britain, which forms so leading a feature in American orations on this