"I finished my dinner, and was anxious to see the little man perform again. I approached the little man, and desired him to concoct me a lemonade. He inquired if I wanted a 'fly' in it. As the flying part was what I most desired, I answered yes. The little man went through the motions. I sent the lemonade to its destination, noticing at the time something remarkably nectarean in the taste. As I supposed the evolutions which it had accomplished in mid-air had imparted to it an unusual flavor, and as I wanted to see the performance again, I immediately subscribed for one more of the same sort. Again the question about the fly--again an affirmative, with a remark that the bigger the fly, the better I should be pleased, supposing that thereby he would, for my satisfaction, make it fly through some new motions. I am satisfied that this time the fly _was_ larger than on the former occasion. I was still unsatisfied; another subscription, and another lemonade, but this time the entomological interrogation was not propounded--he took the fly for granted, and he was right. About this time the person who came home with me last night made his appearance. I shook hands with him at once, for I thought I recognized him. I imagined that he was a man who, seven years ago, licked me with a rawhide for stealing his pippins and setting fire to his sugar-bush, and I was anxious to shake hands for old acquaintance sake. I beg now, however, to state that I am satisfied this impression was erroneous, for I have this morning a distinct recollection that the individual of pomological memory removed to Kansas, where he was first lynched for stealing a horse, and afterward chosen county treasurer and inspector of election. However, be that as it may, certain it is, that, at that particular moment, thinking I had fallen in with an old friend, I invited him to drink with me. He accepted, and presently he proposed punch, and made a remark about cobbler. Punch I had heard mentioned as the prince of good fellows, and I was anxious to make his acquaintance. Cobbler I had only heard of as a man of lapstones and leather aprons, and I did not particularly desire to know him. On receiving an introduction to Punch, I was amazed to find that he was not an individual but a drink--a luscious combination of fragrant ingredients. Although I was mistaken in the identity, I was pleased with him, and it may not be superfluous to remark that the more I saw of him, the more I wanted to see, and the more I did see. About this time I had _two_ friends; there were _two_ active little men behind the bar, each throwing from double-barrelled tumblers two streams of lemonade over his head, each with two flies in. There were two beer-pumps, each with two dozen handles, and the number of bottles and decanters was beyond computation. The floor rose up and down in wooden billows, and knocked my hat off. I attempted to remonstrate with floor, but at this juncture the floor clinched me; we