"I finished my dinner, and was anxious to see the little man perform again. I approached the little man, and desired him to concoct me a lemonade. He inquired if I wanted a 'fly' in it. As the flying part was what I most desired, I answered yes. The little man went through the motions. I sent the lemonade to its destination, noticing at the time something remarkably nectarean in the taste. As I supposed the evolutions which it had accomplished in mid-air had imparted to it an unusual flavor, and as I wanted to see the performance again, I immediately subscribed for one more of the same sort. Again the question about the fly--again an affirmative, with a remark that the bigger the fly, the better I should be pleased, supposing that thereby he would, for my satisfaction, make it fly through some new motions. I am satisfied that this time the fly _was_ larger than on the former occasion. I was still unsatisfied; another subscription, and another lemonade, but this time the entomological interrogation was not propounded--he took the fly for granted, and he was right. About this time the person who came home with me last night made his appearance. I shook hands with him at once, for I thought I recognized him. I imagined that he was a man who, seven years ago, licked me with a rawhide for stealing his pippins and setting fire to his sugar-bush, and I was anxious to shake hands for old acquaintance sake. I beg now, however, to state that I am satisfied this impression was erroneous, for I have this morning a distinct recollection that the individual of pomological memory removed to Kansas, where he was first lynched for stealing a horse, and afterward chosen county treasurer and inspector of election. However, be that as it may, certain it is, that, at that particular moment, thinking I had fallen in with an old friend, I invited him to drink with me. He accepted, and presently he proposed punch, and made a remark about cobbler. Punch I had heard mentioned as the prince of good fellows, and I was anxious to make his acquaintance. Cobbler I had only heard of as a man of lapstones and leather aprons, and I did not particularly desire to know him. On receiving an introduction to Punch, I was amazed to find that he was not an individual but a drink--a luscious combination of fragrant ingredients. Although I was mistaken in the identity, I was pleased with him, and it may not be superfluous to remark that the more I saw of him, the more I wanted to see, and the more I did see. About this time I had _two_ friends; there were _two_ active little men behind the bar, each throwing from double-barrelled tumblers two streams of lemonade over his head, each with two flies in. There were two beer-pumps, each with two dozen handles, and the number of bottles and decanters was beyond computation. The floor rose up and down in wooden billows, and knocked my hat off. I attempted to remonstrate with floor, but at this juncture the floor clinched me; we had a long wrestle, and finally went down--floor on top. By a convulsive exertion I 'turned' the floor, got it under, and stood on it to keep it down; had some compunctions about striking a fallen enemy, but passion got the better of me, and I tried to kick the floor; floor kicked back, and threw sand-dust in my eyes; got away; wanted to get out doors, but the room had changed about so, that the door was over my head, and the bar, with the active little men, was nearly under my feet; was afraid I should walk over the little men, and break the bottles; stepped very carefully so as to avoid any such accident, and put my foot in the stove. Peter rescued me from the devouring element, and got me out of doors.