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 drink some cocktail.""Sing us a song, old boy.""Don't you wish you may get the table?"Bill drank the proffered cocktail not unwillingly, and, putting down the empty glass, remonstrated, "Now, gentlemen, there's only ten minutes to prayers, and we must get the hall straight."

Shouts of "No, no!" and a violent effort to strike up Billy Taylor for the third time. Bill looked appealingly to old Brooke, who got up and stopped the noise. "Now, then, lend a hand, you youngsters, and get the tables back; clear away the jugs and glasses. Bill's right. Open the windows, Warner." The boy addressed, who sat by the long ropes, proceeded to pull up the great windows and let in a clear, fresh rush of night air, which made the candles flicker and gutter and the fires roar. The circle broke up, each collaring his own jug, glass, and song-book; Bill pounced on the big table, and began to rattle it away to its place outside the buttery-door. The lower-passage boys carried off their small tables, aided by their friends, while above all, standing on the great hall-table, a knot of untiring sons of harmony made night doleful by a prolonged performance of God Save the King. His Majesty King William IV then reigned over us, a monarch deservedly popular among the boys addicted to melody, to whom he was chiefly known from the beginning of that excellent, if slightly vulgar, song in which they much delighted—

Others of the more learned in songs also celebrated his praises in a sort of ballad which I take to have been written by some Irish loyalist. I have forgotten all but the chorus, which ran,