A PENNY FOR THE MEMBER'S THOUGHTS.
The Americans go off; say they have enjoyed themselves. I feel inclined to apologise for CRIMPTON. On second thoughts, I don't. They do not look like men who write about their adventures in their native newspapers. Ladies do that. A weight is off my mind. The Military Writer goes home. He asks, "Who was that old man who fancied himself so about SHERMAN's March?" "That was General HOME, who held a command under SHERMAN." The Military Writer whistles; wishes I had told him that before dinner. I wish I had, but I got so flurried and confused. It is midnight; I am tired to death. Yes, BEILBY will have something to drink, and another cigar—a very large one. He begins to talk about the University Match, about all University Matches, about old scores, and old catches, from MITCHELL's year to the present day.
It is three o'clock before I get home; the Americans may have enjoyed themselves, I have not. I dream about the Mad Doctor; perhaps he will put me into his next book on Incipient Insanity. Serve me right.