It was an oath.
"These are my rivals--the candidates for office," thought I, looking at a group who stood near the table.

They were men of better appearance than the _hoi polloi_.

Some of them already affected a half-undress uniform, and most wore forage-caps with glazed covers, and army buttons over the ears.
"Ha! Clayley!" said I, recognising an old acquaintance.

This was a young cotton-planter--a free, dashing spirit,--who had sacrificed a fortune at the shrines of Momus and Bacchus.
"Why, Haller, old fellow! glad to see you.

How have you been?
Think of going with us ?" "Yes, I have signed.