CHAPTER XXVII.
THE SUPPER.
Power and I dined together _tete-a-tete_ at the hotel, and sat chatting over my adventures with the Dalrymples till nearly nine o'clock.
"Come, Charley," said he, at length, "I see your eye wandering very often towards the timepiece; another bumper, and I'll let you off.

What shall it be ?" "What you like," said I, upon whom a share of three bottles of strong claret had already made a very satisfactory impression.
"Then champagne for the _coup-de-grace_.

Nothing like your _vin mousseux_ for a critical moment,--every bubble that rises sparkling to the surface prompts some bright thought, or elicits some brilliant idea, that would only have been drowned in your more sober fluids.

Here's to the girl you love, whoever she be." "To her bright eyes, then, be it," said I, clearing off a brimming goblet of nearly half the bottle, while my friend Power seemed multiplied into any given number of gentlemen standing amidst something like a glass manufactory of decanters.
"I hope you feel steady enough for this business," said my friend, examining me closely with the candle.
"I'm an archdeacon," muttered I, with one eye involuntarily closing.
"You'll not let them double on you!" "Trust me, old boy," said I, endeavoring to look knowing.
"I think you'll do," said he, "so now march.

I'll wait for you here, and we'll go on board together; for old Bloater the skipper says he'll certainly weigh by daybreak." "Till then," said I, as opening the door, I proceeded very cautiously to descend the stairs, affecting all the time considerable _nonchalance_, and endeavoring, as well as my thickened utterance would permit, to hum:-- "Oh, love is the soul of an Irish dragoon." If I was not in the most perfect possession of my faculties in the house, the change to the open air certainly but little contributed to their restoration; and I scarcely felt myself in the street when my brain became absolutely one whirl of maddened and confused excitement.