At it they went, _instanter_. Titmouse squared about with a sort of disdainful showiness--in the midst of which he suddenly received a nasty teaser on his nose and shoulder, from his active, hardy, and experienced antagonist, which brought him to the ground, the blood gushing from his nose in a copious stream. Sir Pumpkin quickly picked him up, shook him, and set him fairly at his man again. Nearer and nearer stumped the old fellow to the devoted "swell," who, evidently groggy, squared in the most absurd way imaginable for a moment or two, when he received his enemy's _one two_ in his eye, and on his mouth, and again dropped down. "He's drunk--he can't fight no more than a baby; I won't stand against him any more," quoth the fair and stout-hearted old waterman. "It warn't any o' my seeking; but if he thought to come it over an old cripple like me"---- "Bravo! bravo!" cried his companions. "Come along, old chap--come along," said one; "if I don't give you a jolly quartern, may I stick here without a fare all this blessed night;" and the speaker led off the victor to the public-house opposite, while Titmouse's friends led him away, nearly insensible, to a tavern a few doors off. Having given directions that he should be forthwith taken to a bedroom and washed, they ordered broiled bones and mulled claret for themselves. After about an hour and a half's nap, Titmouse, who probably had benefited rather than suffered from his blood-letting, rejoined his friends, and called for a cigar and a glass of cold brandy and water; having had which, they set off homeward: he reaching his rooms about one o'clock, with a very black eye, a swollen nose and mouth, a very thick and indistinct speech, and unsteady step; in fact, in a much worse pickle than he had as yet exhibited to his valet, who told him, while preparing for him a glass of brandy and soda-water, that no fewer than five messengers had been at his rooms. While he was yet speaking, a thundering knock was heard at the outer-door, and on its being opened, in rushed, breathlessly, Mr. Phelim O'Doodle. "Titmouse!--Titmouse! Och, murther and thunder, where are ye? Where have ye been, wid ye?" he gasped-- "When--a--hen--on--water--swims-- Too-ra-laddy-- Too-ra-lad-lad-lad"-- drowsily sung Titmouse--it being part of a song he had heard thrice encored that evening after dinner--at the same time staggering towards O'Doodle. "Och, botheration take your too-ra-lady! Come, fait--by Jasus! clap your hat on, and button your coat, and off to the House--immediately--or it's all up with us, an' out we go every mother's son of us--an' the bastely Tories'll be in. Come! come!--off wid ye, I say! I've a coach at the door"---- "I--(hiccup)--I sha'n't--can't--'pon my life"-- "Och, off wid ye!--isn't it mad that Mr. O'Gibbet is wid ye?"---- "He's one eye--aha! and one leg--Too-ra-laddy," hiccuped the young senator.