"Frank! why, isn't he asleep all this time? I haven't heard his voice this half hour," exclaimed another. "'Parce meum, quisquis tanges cava marmora somnum Rumpere; sive bibas, sive lavere, tace,'" said Elliot beseechingly. "Come, come," said Harry, "none of your heathenish lingo over the mahogany. Boys! I move that Frank be made to swallow a tumbler of port for using bad language, and to make him fit company for the rest of us honest fellows." "_Fiat experimentum in corpore vili_," squeaked a first year medical student, shoving the lighted end of his cigar, by mistake, into his mouth when he had delivered his sentence, and then springing up and sputtering out a mighty oath and a quantity of hot tobacco ashes. "Ashes to ashes," cried Harry, filling up a tumbler to the brim; "we'll let you off this time, as you're a fire-eater; but rally round, lads, and see this land shark swallow his grog." "Nay, but, my friends"----began Frank, seeing, with horror, that the party had gathered round him, and that Harry held the glass inexorably in his mouth. "Get a gag rigged," shouted the young sailor; "we'll find a way into his grog shop." "Upon my word, Whitaker," said Frank, with a ludicrous intonation of voice, between real anger and distress, "this is too hard on one who has filled fairly from the first--to punish him without an inquiry into the justice of the case." "Jeddart justice--hang first, and judge after!" roared a student from the sylvan banks of the Jed. "No freeman can, under any pretence," hiccupped a young advocate, who was unable to rise from his chair, "be condemned, except by the legal decision of his peers, or by the law of the land. So sayeth the Magna Charta--King John--(_hic_)--right of all free-born Englishmen--including thereby all inhabitants of Great Britain, incorporated at the Union--_hic_--and Ireland." Whitaker set the tumbler down in despair, finding that his companions, like the generality of raw students, were so completely wedded to their pedantry, that the fine, if insisted on, would have to go all round. "Let's have a song, Rhimeson," cried Frank, very glad to escape from his threatened bumper, and still fearful that it might be insisted upon, "a song extempore, as becomes a poet in his cups, and in thine own vein; for what says Spenser?-- 'For Bacchus' fruit is friend to Phoebus wise; And when, with wine, the brain begins to sweat, The numbers flow as fast as spring doth rise.'" "By Jove, boys! you shall have it," cried Rhimeson, filling his glass with unsteady hand, and muttering, from the same prince of poets-- "'Who can counsell a thirstie soule, With patience to forbeare the offred bowle?'" "That is the pure well of English undefiled, old fellows, and so here goes--'The Lass we Love!' TUNE--'_Duncan Davison._'