Poor John, now fully assured of the Captain's intention, is very uncomfortable, indeed; experiencing the combined sensations of goose-skin, fever, pins-and-needles, live-blood, and intoxication--sensations that might have been relieved could they have vanished at the extremities of his hair; but, unfortunately, that would not stand erect, so plastered and powdered had it been since the Captain's arrival. John ruminates upon what has been said, intending to mention the "unmentionables," and break the awful mystery to Mr. Brown, that very night. Now, you must know, Mr. Brown and his friend, the Captain, condescended to grace the juvenile party:--they sat at an occasional table, in the recess, drinking wine, as if for a wager--trying to dispose of all the surplus decanted yesterday; so, you may suppose, when John appeared with a melancholy face, to impart melancholy news, Mr. Brown was too far gone to comprehend it--that night he could not stand, much more understand; though, somehow, under the inspiration of a draught of water and a damp towel, the Diary was made up, as if by instinct:-- "January 5th, _Saturday_.--Christmas is dead!--Expired with the Juvenile party--we have economically disposed of the scraps. 'A Merry Christmas!'--All the _ill luck_ came upon Fridays--we can have no more this season--altogether, a jolly Christmas, with a jolly friend, who is to prove himself a _capital_ one to-morrow--owes me L350--bill due Monday,--says he will _clear off all by then!_ If 'money' is said to be a 'friend,' what must a _friend_ with _money_ be?--A golden treasure, doubly dear--a companion that can never be a drag, because too well off."