he drew a universal protest from the rest of our crew, who are
certainly not sensitive. Then his yell grew maudlin. "Why did God make
me thus? Why do I grunt and sweat under the burden of a weary life? Give
me, ah, give me the days that are gone!" Then he fell alongside of the
bench, and presently his long, gurgling snore sounded fitfully. "Let him
sweat there till closing time; he'll be quiet enough," said Mr.
Landlord; and sure enough the orator lay until the hour had struck. He
shivered when he rose, and his knees were like to fail him. "Heavens!
what a mouth I've got!" he moaned, and I could see that the deadly,
bitter fur had already covered his palate. "Take a flask home, Billy,
and pull yourself together when you turn in." Billy grabbed fiercely at
the air. "These infernal flies have started early." The specks were
dancing before his eyes, and I fancy he had an ugly night before him;
but I didn't see him home.

THURSDAY.--I have found out a good deal about my stagy friend, and we
are quite confidential, especially late at night. He weeps plenteously
and recalls his own sins, but I think he is fairly truthful. A moving,
sordid history is his. Moralising is waste of time, but one might
almost moralise to the extent of boredom concerning the life of Billy
Devine, boozer, actor, betting-man.

Devine's peculiarly grandiose mode of telling his story was rather
effective at first hearing, but it would read like a burlesque, so I
translate his narrative into my own dialect. He was a quick, clever lad,
and the culture bestowed in a genteel academy was too narrow for him. He
read a great deal of romance, and still more poetry. He neglected his
school lessons, and he was dismissed after a few years as an incurable
scamp.