"Mercy on me," said Mr Felix Flamingo, "_what is this!_--who have we here?" "My servant," said I, unable to restrain my laughter, "strangely transmogrified certainly." By this time Mr Twig joined us, having retired with the skipper of the merchantman, whom he had dressed out in a suit of his own clothes; and as he was really a very handsome man, he looked uncommonly well, allowing for his nautical roll and salt water flavour, in his borrowed plumes. "Now," said Flamingo, "we must be jogging. So, Quacco, lead the way." "Stop," said Jacob; "no hurry, Felix, it an't long past ten yet, so let us crack a bottle of Sally's champagne, it _launches_ one so nobly into a ball-room; it is the _grease_ on the ways, my lads, if I may venture on so vulgar a simile. So, Sally--Sally, a bottle of champagne." The wine was brought, and was really extremely good,--so unexpectedly good, that somehow we had number two, just to see whether the first had been a fair sample of the batch or no. At length, we again addressed ourselves for the start. But the master of the brig, who was modest to bashfulness in his cool moments, had become a changed creature from the innovation wrought in his brain by the unusual potation. "Gentlemen, had it been strong grog, I would have carried sail with most of you; but really I must--I must--in short, Mrs Sally, I must top off with some hot brandy and water before weighing." The hot stuff was brought, and we finally started for Mr Roseapple's in earnest; Quacco in advance, carrying a small stable lantern, held aloft on the end of his cane; then Mr Felix Flamingo and I abreast, followed by Mr Twig and the skipper. The cool night air was an astonishing assistant to the grog, as I could perceive, from the enunciation of the sailor in my wake becoming rapidly thicker and more indistinct as we advanced. The street we passed through was quite still, the inhabitants, according to the custom of the country, having already retired to rest; but several gigs, and carriages of various descriptions, gritted past us, through the deep sand of the unpaved thoroughfares, apparently returning from setting down company. As we were toiling up the hill, crowned with the gay domicile, which was sparkling with lights, and resounding with music, and merry voices, and laughter, we could, through the open blinds, see dark figures flitting and moving rapidly about between us and the lamps.