About one third of the friends were from the provinces, the remainder out of Copenhagen.
"Old Father Homer shall stand in the middle of the table!" said one of the liveliest guests, whilst he took down from the stove a plaster bust and placed it upon the covered table.
"Yes, certainly, he will have drunk as much as the other poets!" said an older one.

"Give me one of thy exercise-books, Ludwig! I will cut him out a wreath of vine-leaves, since we have no roses and since I cannot cut out any." "I have no libation!" cried a third,--"Favete linguis." And he sprinkled a small quantity of salt, from the point of a knife, upon the bust, at the same time raising his glass to moisten it with a few drops of wine.
"Do not use my Homer as you would an ox!" cried the host.

"Homer shall have the place of honor, between the bowl and the garland-cake! He is especially my poet! It was he who in Greek assisted me to laudabilis et quidem egregie.

Now we will mutually drink healths! Joergen shall be magister bibendi, and then we will sing 'Gaudeamus igitur,' and 'Integer vitae.'" "The Sexton with the cardinal's hat shall be the precentor!" cried one of the youths from the provinces, pointing toward a rosy-cheeked companion.
"O, now I am no longer sexton!" returned the other laughing.

"If thou bringest old histories up again, thou wilt receive thy old school-name, 'the Smoke-squirter.'" "But that is a very nice little history!" said the other.