The effect of this latter burst of poetic fire was truly electric; it completely extinguished the Captain's impromptu glimmer, lighting up that gallant bosom with a passion of another kind--he feels miserably "put out;"--and, like a dying rush-light in its last moments, seemed determined to end with a spark of unusual brightness. The Captain stood erect, awaiting his opportunity; but, alas!--it was one that never came; for the ventriloquist, that caused the rupture between Mr. Potts and the "Spooney," made the "Lion" wince, by observing, "he hoped there would be no cruelty to animals"--a remark that made our "Lion" roar contemptuously, and call the company "bears and monkeys"--he growling, with blood-thirsty pugnacity, about "satisfaction" and "Chalk Farm,"--the declamatory mania causing the irascible monster to mount a projection in the recess, covered with a curtain, bringing down an avalanche of fenders, fire-irons, and other stowage, with a fearful crash--crowning the "king of beasts" with a helmet-scuttle,--thus permitting the meaner animals to escape; leaving, as Mr. Lark (who came out last) said, between frightful gusts of laughter oozing from his handkerchief, Jackall Brown, the lion's provider, pacifying the enraged brute with claret or soda water; and John in such an extreme fit of awe, that he has taken the state jug, with the hole in the bottom stopped with sealing-wax--only intended to hold cold water, into use, for hot; and, being unable to stop the orifice with his finger, drops the article--to the scalding of the already enfuriated "Lion." * * * * * * Feet were pattering above as we left this scene of strife--no time seeming to have been lost during the consumption of the supper; for the hands of the clock, in the hall, pointed to an earlier hour than they did when we descended:--the truth being, Lark, though rather fast himself, thought Time too much so, and put him back a little. The Wall-flower is comparing the clock with his repeater. Lark is reprimanding him, saying--it is not _etiquette_ to do so; and that really some one ought to tell the vulgar thing, in green satin, who wore her button of a watch-face outward (fearing lest it should be taken for a locket), to turn the bauble round, for it is time she was in bed. Having been absent for a short period, we were informed by the Lark that we had _not_ lost a treat--for Jemima had been singing, "Memory, be thou ever true!"--whilst Lark (perpetrating a dreary pun) said, he every moment wished the music-stool would prove a _fall setto_, and precipitate the lady to the ground; for it was a sad pity to hear poor Spohf's songs so murdered.