“‘Under, I believe (hiccup)—­’

“‘Silence, there, I say.’

“‘My friends—­my dear friends,’ said Solomon—­’my brothers—­Christian brethren, I should say, for you are Christian brethren—­Lord Cumber’s health is a good thing, and his property is a good thing; and I—­I return you thanks for it, as I am bound to do, as a Christian.  Am I Christian?  Well—­’ (here he smiled, and laying his hand upon his heart, added,) ’well I know what I feel here, that is all.  My dear friends, I said that Lord Cumber’s health and property were good things, but I know a thing that’s better, more valuable, richer—­and what is that?  It is here, in this poor frail—­but not frail so long as that thing is here—­that thing, what is it?  Oh, if you had prayed for it, wrestled for it, fought for it, as I did, you would know what it is, and all the delightful and elevating consolations it brings along with it.  Surely some one drank Lord Cumber’s health!  That was well; he sitteth in a high place, and deserveth honor.  Let us drink his health, my friends—­let us drink it, yea, abundantly, even unto rejoicing.  But what is this thing?  Why, it is the sense of inward support, a mild, sweet light, that diffuses pleasant thoughts through you, that multiplies every good gift about you, that makes one cup of pleasant liquor seem two.  It is not to many that these things are vouchsafed; not, I believe, to any here, always with humility and fear be it spoken, excepting Bob Spaight and myself—­

“’—­July the first in Oldbridge town,

responded Bob,

     “’ There was a grievous battle,
     Where many a man lay on the ground,
     By the cannons that did rattle.’—­

“‘Yea,’ pursued Bob, ’the gift is come, brother Solomon—­the fifth cup always brings it—­

—­’King James he pitched his tents between’—­

“‘Aye, but, brother Bob,’ resumed Solomon, ’the gift is a little too soon on this occasion.  Let me give the words, and, Bob, if you could manage the ‘Protestant Boys,’ rather than ‘Croppies lie Down,’ it would suit it; and, indeed, it would be well if the whole congregation joined us in it.  I shall give the words—­let me see, long measure, eight lines, four nines, and four six-sixes;—­

     “’There’s nought but care on every hand,
     In every hour that passes, oh,
     What signifies the life o’ man,
     An’ ’twere not for the lasses, oh.”

eh, let me see—­am I right?’

“‘Right,’ they shouted, ’never were half so right, Solomon.  We’ll join you to a man,’ and accordingly, with one voice, they gave the stanza at the top of their voices, little Bob leading them, to the air of ‘Croppies lie Down,’ in a style that was perfectly irresistible.

“Thus ended a night in an Orange Lodge, but not so out of it.  Those who had to go any distance, were armed, and the consequence was, that when they got into the street, they commenced their usual courses:  shots were fired in every direction, offensive songs were sung—­any money for the face of a Papist—­to hell with the Pope—­Ram down Catholics, and so on.  At length, by degrees these all ceased, the streets gradually grew quiet, then still, and another night closed upon the habits of a class of men, who, in the wantonness of their power, scarcely knew what they did.