The “_Cahar ca nautch_,” or “dance of the bearer,” a favourite in India, was now called for loudly, and the prettiest girl of the set, retiring a little on one side, and twisting a turban saucily round her head, after the fashion of that order of menial, and otherwise arranging her attire into a somewhat similar resemblance to the other parts of their dress, darted forward arms a-kimbo, _à la Vestris_, and danced an animated lilt, something of the nature of a Highland fling. Rapturous were the “bravos” of the officers, and the “_wau! waus!_” of the natives. The girl’s excitement increased with the applause; the fiddlers worked like heroes, whilst the _doog-doogie_ man, or drummer, pegged away at his long drum, till, flushed and exhausted, she made her salaam, and retired within the circle amidst renewed plaudits. This was followed by “_Mootrib-i koosh_,” “songster sweet,” and other Persian and Hindostanee airs, not forgetting “_Sarrai teen pisa muchlee_,” _i.e._, “three ha’porth of fish,” by way of _finale_, till at length the dancing grew languid; the hookas bubbled faintly, and Marpeet, starting up, dismissed the dancers, and we all adjourned to do honour to the devilled turkey’s legs and a saucepan of mulled port, of Marpeet’s own brewing. Enlivened by the change, the song and the toast went round, and Marpeet, who was half-seas-over, sung us, “Dear Tom, this brown jug, which now foams with mild ale,” in his very best style; and, by particular request I warbled “The Woodpecker.” [Illustration: The Last Night of His Griffinage Marpeet “Royal.”] “Franco, your health and song, my boy,” said my friend, rising on his legs; “and now, gentlemen (_hiccup_), I am about to propose the toast of the evening, and one which, I am sure, you’ll all drink with as much pleasure (_hiccup_) as I have in giving it: gentlemen, off with your heel-taps; are you all charged? Wildfire, pass the bottle. Gentlemen, I am now about to propose the health of a young friend of mine, whom I consider in some respects a chick of my own rearing. We came out together, and I take credit for having made him the good fellow you all find him (_hiccup_). This is the last day of his griffinage, and to-morrow he is one of us old hands. Gentlemen, I give you, standing, with three times three, long life, health, and success to our friend, Frank Gernon, the griffin. Hip! hip! hurrah!” Woodfall and Kinder, Printers, Milford Lane, Strand, London, W.C. ----- Footnote 1: The arms of the City of London supported by Griffins or Wyverns. Footnote 2: Milton speaks of the Gryphon as a “guardian of gold,” but that can clearly have no connection with _our_ animal, whose propensities in respect to the precious metals are quite of an opposite tendency. Footnote 3: Cant term for residents in the Bengal Presidency—“Qui Hye,” “who wait,” being constantly addressed to servants. Footnote 4: _Mulls_—cant term for Madrassees. Footnote 5: