Page:Table-Talk, vol. 2 (1822).djvu/92

shipped as of yore. The night waned, but our glasses brightened, enriched with the pearls of Grecian story. Our cup-bearer slept in a corner of the room, like another Endymion, in the pale ray of a half-extinguished lamp, and starting up at a fresh summons for a further supply, he swore it was too late, and was inexorable to entreaty. Mounsey— — — sat with his hat on and with a hectic flush in his face while any hope remained, but as soon as we rose to go, he darted out of the room as quick as lightning, determined not to be the last that went.—I said some time after to the waiter, that “Mr. Mounsey— — — was no flincher.” “Oh! Sir,” says he, “you should have known him formerly, when Mr. Hume— — — and Mr. Ayrton— — — used to be here. Now he is quite another man: he seldom stays later than one or two.”—“Why, did they keep it up much later then?”—“Oh! yes; and used to sing catches and all sorts.”—“What, did Mr. Mounsey— — — sing catches?”—“He joined chorus, Sir, and was as merry as the best of them. He was always a pleasant gentleman!”—This Hume— — — and Ayrton— — — succumbed in the fight. Ayrton— — — was a dry Scotchman, Hume— — — a good-natured, hearty Englishman. I do not mean that the same character applies to all Scotchmen or to all Englishmen. Hume— — — was of the Pipe-Office