"Now, my friend, have one more—one more, Mr. Jones. Beware of the besetting sin of drunkenness."
"You never see me tocksicated yet, sir, I believe?"
"Never, Mr. Jones! But a drunkard is not to be trusted. What do you think of my sermons on the subject, Mr. Jones?"
"Capital good! But them hard words puzzles us more than a bit."
"Hard words, Mr. Jones, hit hard; and to hit a man hard is to make a man feel. Certainly; veritatis simplex oratio est; but———"
"What say?"
"Veritatis simplex oratio est."
"Them's the dodges as does us."
"Hark! What noise is that? Listen!"
"They're only coming out of the Crumpet!" said Jones.
"That's a late house, my friend. People go there to drink till they are drunk, and a drunkard has no command over himself. He cannot even keep his own counsel. Quod est in corde sobrii est in ore ebrii. Therefore, never get intoxicated, Jones, my friend; never get intoxicated."
"No, sir."
"Never. The practice is-bad. It's a bad practice, Jones, a very bad practice. Intoxication— What's o'clock? Past twelve. Mr. Jones, can I trust you?"
"Trust me, sir?"
"I think I can. Now, Mr. Jones, look here. By this timepiece it's now ten minutes past twelve. Very well. Now I've got a great deal on my mind, and I want to turn it over. I'll therefore just stretch myself here on this couch, and if I should drop off, when it's one o'clock call me. You are sure that I can trust you?"
"There's no fear of that, sir."
"You'll not go to sleep?"
"Not if it isn't one o'clock for a month."
"Very good. But recollect, if you should go to sleep, I'll discharge you."
"Oh, there's no fear of that," returned Jones. "I'll keep awake if I live."
The reverend gentleman then reclined upon the couch, and in less than five minutes he snored so loudly that Jones felt justified in looking into the jugs; but he found nothing there; they were perfectly empty; and as they were empty, he mixed himself a glass of stiff brandy-and-water.
But brandy-and-water. Brandy-and-water after punch, and such punch—pooh! what was brandy-and-water? There had been a time, and that time was not very remote, when he held brandy-and-water to be drink fit for—gods he didn't know anything about, but he thought it fit for actual noblemen—they being the next best things he could think of. But then after punch, he didn't relish brandy-and-water. He drank it, it is true—that may be recorded—but he couldn't persuade his palate to relish it! and, as such was the case, "why," thought he; "why shouldn't I try to make a little?" He couldn't see why he
