He pressed his lips to hers, and, shaking her hand fervidly, they parted for the night; but before they parted, they had renewed their young vows, beneath an ash-tree, where they had sat down together (upon the footpath which is now known by the name of the "_Willow Back_"), and where he had carved their names four years before, and there he deepened the incision which recorded their initials; and, as Virgil somewhere hath it (though neither of them knew anything about Virgil), they vowed that, as the "bark expanded, their love would grow." This is a very common idea amongst love-engravers upon trees; but though a Mantuan swain might so write, a British peasant would frequently have cause to say, that, as the tree grew, and the bark expanded, so did his initials spread, and become vague, and more vague, until fog grew over them; and upon the heart, as on the tree where he had first carved his name, there was no trace left. But George Mordington parted with Marion, and went to a street called the Kiln Hill, in which there then was an inn, known by the name of "THE SALMON." In it all the associates of his youth were assembled; and when he entered they rose simultaneously, each offering his hand, and exclaiming, "Ah! George! my dear fellow, how are you?" They sat long, and they drank deeply; and, while the song, the story, the jest, or the argument went round, they forgot how time and reason were flying together. It was usual for such companies not to break up until they had witnessed the election of the mayor. The heads of several of the party began to go round as well as the glass; and of this number was George Mordington. He was a youth of the most sober and temperate habits; and before he had drank off his third glass, he might have said, in the words of the song, "This is no me!" His very countenance was changed; his manner, which was, in general, backward and retiring, became bold and boisterous. Instead of his wonted silence, he was the chief orator of the company. He spoke of things of which he ought not to have spoken, and as glass succeeded glass, so did one act of folly succeed another. Some of the more sober of the company said, they "were sorry for poor Mordington--but his head could stand nothing; and," added they, "it is a pity, for he is an excellent fellow." This, however, was only the sentiment of a part of them; and as he began to exhibit fantastic tricks, and to declaim with violent gestures upon all subjects, some said that he would make an excellent _mayor_, and proposed that a cart should be procured. Against this proposal some of his acquaintances protested; but the idea pleased his own disordered fancy, and as the madness of intoxication increased, he insisted that the bacchanalian honour should be conferred upon him. "Well done, George!" cried the more thoughtless of the party; "he is the king of good fellows, every inch of him!"