A Drunken Compositor.
Supposed Grace and Mort were engaged. Had
been to Mrs. Thomsons�, probably with Mort, or
Wells, before he came hither. Dancing.
�Snapdragon,� down-stairs. Left, with Morris
at 12. Fire-alarm and rush of firemen along
Broadway side-walks. More folks at home. To
bed by 1.
3. Tuesday. Down-town, to �Courier� Office.
Briggs there. He was one of Fanny�s callers yester-
day and, as usual, affected the slightly-mysterious
about it. To �Pic.� Office. The foreman, Mc. Cul-
loch at the bottom of the stairs, drunk and mourn-
ful, insisting on taking my arm and squeezing
himself considerably, in the attempt to walk thus
along the narrow places. Some months ago
the man offended me, and I had a bit of a
dispute with him; since then, whenever he is ine-
briated, he always returns to the subject, repent-
ing, as it were, in dust-and-ashes. Up-stairs,
Bob Gun, engravers, printers and confusion. It
appeared that Mc. C. had presented himself, in
the morning, too drunk to �lock up the form� of the
paper, all he did resulting in �pi-ing� matter.
Cahill remonstrating energetically, Mc. pitched into
him, and a violent scuffle ended in Cahill�s bolt-
ing down-stairs, leaving his hat behind him.
Gun anticipated the paper wouldn�t go to press