“Thank you, Mr. Patterson, your character can stand it, I tell you, but mine can’t.” “Friend of my soul, this goblet sip,” reiterated Patterson, offering Dogberry the glass. “Thank you, Mr. Patterson, I would not choose any,” said he. “You can’t but choose, Dogberry; there is no alternative. Do you remember what the poet beautifully says of the Roman daughter, who sustained her imprisoned father from her own breast?— ‘Drink, drink and live, old man; Heaven’s realm holds no such tide.’ Do you remember it? I bid you drink, then, and I say to you, Hebe nor Ganymede ever offered to the immortals purer wine than that. Drink! here’s to you, Dogberry, and to your speedy promotion,” and Mr. Patterson swallowed every drop in the glass, and re-filling it, handed it to the usher. Without much hesitation, he drank it. He now filled me up a glass nearly full, and I followed the example of my preceptor, he the while looking at me with astonishment. “How do you like the letter, Mr. Dogberry?” asked Mr. Patterson of the pedagogue. “What letter, sir? Mr. Patterson, I must say this is a strange proceeding. I don’t know, sir, to what you allude.” “Don’t know to what I allude! Why, the letter wishing to know if you would take the academy at the same price at which Sears now holds it.” “Sir, I have received no such letter. I certainly, sir, would, if it was thought that I was—” “Was competent. Merit is always modest; you’re the most competent of the two, sir—take some.” So saying, Mr. Patterson filled up the tumbler, and Dogberry swallowed the compliment and the wine together, and fixed his eye on the rafters with an exulting look. While he was so gazing, the lawyer filled his glass, and observed, “Come, drink, and let me open this other bottle; I want a glass myself.” Down went the wine, and, with a smack of his lips, Dogberry handed the glass to Mr. Patterson. “Capital, ain’t it, eh?” “Capital,” re-echoed Dogberry. The wine and his supposed honors had aroused the brain of the pedagogue in a manner which seemed to awake him to a new existence. While Mr. Patterson was striking the top from the other bottle, Dogberry handed me the candle which he held—the other he had put in his candlestick, taking out his own when he first drank—and lifting the tumbler, he stood ready. Again he quaffed a bumper. The effect of his potations on him was electrical. He had a long face, with a snipe-like nose, which was subjected to a nervous twitching whenever its owner was excited. It now danced about, seemingly, all over his face, while his naturally cadaverous countenance, under the excitement, turned to a glowing red, and his small ferret eyes looked both dignified and dancing, merry and important. “So,” exclaimed he, “I am to be principal of the academy; ha, ha, ha! oh, Lord! William Russell, I would reprove you on the spot, but that you are in such distinguished company.”