"Joy, joy, forever, our task is done, Our trials are past, and our Restaurant is _some_." Damphool says my concluding quotation is not strictly correct, but what does he know about it? VIII. The Potency of Croton Water, or an aqueous quality hitherto unknown. It has been a cherished superstition of our ancestors that water as a beverage is innocuous; I myself was laboring under this infatuated delusion when I left the shades of private life, and the sweet retiracy of the swamps of Michigan, to become a denizen of the Island City. Believing that my previous experience in the article justified me in drinking freely of the treacherous liquid, I did not hesitate on my arrival here to imbibe on various occasions as much of the undiluted Croton as my thirsty body seemed to need. How I was deceived in the potency of the fluid a single night's experience will show; I am confident that on this particular occasion I was bewitched by the mischievous God of the stream called the Croton, and that, if I had given him any further opportunities to exercise his craft, my name would positively have appeared in the Police Reports some morning, and Doesticks would have been therein stigmatized as "_Drunk and Disorderly_." But the imputation would be slanderous,--I will lay before the public the events of a single night, and its verdict shall be a triumphant vindication of my character,--shall exculpate the Deity Bacchus (now resident in Ohio,) from the grave charge of leading me astray,--and lay the entire blame of the transaction upon the rascal River God. Only once in my life have I been drunk. It was a youthful inebriation, caused by partaking too freely of cider made from apples with worms in them. At present I am sober. If, since my sojourn in this city, I have been intoxicated, then the time has arrived when any person who wishes to have a regular "drunk" need only apply to the nearest hydrant. Heretofore I have supposed water to be a beverage innocent and harmless; but now--well; no matter--I will not anticipate. Listen while I relate a "plain, unvarnished tale." I left my boarding-house in company with a friend, intending to witness the Shakspearian revival at Burton's--the "Midsummer Night's Dream." Before leaving the hotel, at his suggestion, we partook of a potable, known, I think, as punch--_whiskey punch_. I watched attentively the preparation of this agreeable beverage, and I am certain that there entered into its composition a certain amount of water--Croton water, as I have every reason to believe; and I am also sure that in that treacherous draught I imbibed the first instalment of that villanous liquid which produced the diabolical state of facts I am about to describe; and also that the second and third of those ingenious inventions (both of which we drank on the spot) were as guilty, in this respect, as their "illustrious predecessor!"