should not. He had seen his friend make it, and that friend was then fast asleep. He, of coarse, felt justified in doing so, and commenced—at the wrong end, it is true—but he commenced; he measured out the whiskey, and then measured out the brandy, and then measured out the rum, and then peeled one of the lemons, and then cut it in half, and then squeezed it very properly into the jug, and then put in about the same quantity of sugar as that which his reverend friend had put in; and then —altogether forgetting the water—he covered the jug with a napkin, and placed it upon the hob. Very well! But while it was there, how was he to amuse himself? The thought of the pigeon-pie: and a great thought it was. That pie had been a source of much annoyance, and, therefore, he resolved on having sat.—sat. being in those days the short for satisfaction—he would have sat., and he had it. He took the pigeons up without reference to knife or fork, and pulled them limb from limb! A lot of pigeons get over him! Well, it was rich as far as it went; but the idea then appeared to be very ridiculous. And so in reality it was. They didn't get over him, then. He cleared the dish—completely cleared it—and having done so, turned with an expression of triumph to see how his punch got on. Well; it smelt very nice. He sipped a little—it was very good; but as it seemed rather strong, he thought a little more water would do it no harm. He therefore put in a little water, and then, following the example of his reverend friend, poured it from jug to jug, till his arms ached. " Now," said he, privately, "master and me is the only two gentlemen in this here village as knows how to make this here punch;" and having delivered himself to this effect, and with the most entire self-satisfaction, he began to enjoy the fruit of his labours; and, having drank several glasses, pronounced it to be better—infinitely better, and nicer and stronger—than that which his reverend friend had made.
But, then, how was he to keep himself awake? He couldn't read; he had never been taught to read; but he had been taught the game of push-halfpenny. He therefore got three halfpence, and a small piece of chalk out of his pocket, and having drawn five regular bars upon the table—his right hand played with his left.
This, however, didn't last very long. It was not at all an interesting game. There was not much excitement about it. Whether the right hand won or the left hand won was a matter of very slight importance. He therefore turned with the view of conceiving some new delight; but during the process of conception he suddenly fell into the arms of Somnus, when Morpheus, who is generally on the qui vive, tickled his fancy with the flavour of punch.
