A singing Party. The Vanity Fairians.
presently sending out for two and a half
gallon�s of Optimus ale in a gigantic demi-john.
Cahill fetched it.x A good deal of mirth and
melody, Rondel doing the Marseillaise &c, Bow-
eryem his vocalizing, Cahill his, I mine, and
Hayes some amusingly cockney, plebeian ones.
It was a very amusing impromptu jollifica-
tion. I thought Haney went into the humor of
it with just a spice of recklessness, and in connect-
ion with it, of his ordinary drudgery, �Irving Maga-
zine� depletions, his bachelor-hood and of a
disappointment not yet quite got over. And I
understood it and sympathized with him. Sally�s
rejection may not have �cut him deep,� but he has
felt it sadly enough, at times. There
are rumors that �Vanity Fair� is coming to grief;
the fellows are not paid up regularly; neither editor
not contributor got any money last Saturday.
A projected spree to Clover Hill, at the back of
Brooklyn, organized by Gayler, who puffs the
place in the �Courier,� didn�t take place, in
consequence of lack of money on the part of the
Bohemians, to Gayler�s growling dissatisfaction.
Nobody came to eat the op expensive dinner order-
ed. O�Brien is in a bad way, drunk four
days together, subject to delirium tremens. He got
turned out or had to leave the Hone House, where
x He asked, gravely, at first, for a pint (!) at the bar!