"Well, there's old Bullion," continued one of the interrogators, a fine portly old gent, "you know him, of course?" "What, Tom Benton? Bless your souls, I don't know my letters half as well as I know old Tom." "And Bill Allen, of Ohio?" asked another. "What sort of a fellow is Bill?" "Bill Allen? Lord O! isn't he a coon? Bill Allen? I wish I had a dime for every horn, and game of bluff, we've had together." "Well, there's another of 'em," inquiringly asked a fat, farmer-looking old codger: "Dr. Duncan, how's he stand down there about Washington?" "Oh, well, he's a pretty good sort of an old chap, but, gents, between you and I, (with another whisper,) there is a good deal of the 'old fogie' senna and salts about him. But then he's death and the pale hoss on poker." "What, Doctor Duncan?" says they. "Why, y-e-e-s, of course. Didn't he skin me out of my watch last winter, playing poker, at Willard's?" "Well," continued the fat farmer-looking man, "I didn't know Duncan _gambled_?" "Mum, not a word out of school; ha, ha! Let's drink, gents. Gamble? Lord bless you, it's common as dish-water down there--I've played euchre for hours with old Tom Benton, Harry Clay and Gen. Scott, _right behind the speaker's chair!_" _Then_ they all _drank_, of course, and some of the party liked to have choked. The company now proposed to adjourn to the smoking room, and they arose and left the table accordingly. The man of all talk promenaded out on to the steps, and in course of half an hour, says the leading spirit of the late dinner, or wine party, to him:-- "Mr. ----a--a--?" "Ferguson, sir; George Adolphus Ferguson is my address, sir," responded the victim. "Mr. Ferguson, did you know that your friend Benton was in town?" inquired the wag. "What, Tom Benton here?" "And Allen," continued the wag. "What, Bill Allen, too?" says the victim. "And Doctor Duncan." "You don't tell me all them fellows are here?" "Yes, sir, your friends are all here. Come in and see them; your friends will be delighted," says the wag, taking Mister Ferguson by the arm, to lead him in. "Ha, ha! I'm a--a--ha, ha! _won't_ we have a time? But you just step in--I a--I'll be in in one moment," but in less than half the time, Mr. Ferguson mizzled, no one knew whither! The gentlemen at the table, it is almost needless to say, were no others than Benton, Allen, Duncan, and some three or four other arbiters of the fate of our immense and glorious nation, in her councils, and fresh from the capital. Ferguson has not been heard of since. A Severe Spell of Sickness.