The liquor that the goblet held I found was _human blood_! The King of Ice he marvelled, and his brow grew grave and stern,
    His eye would seem to ask me, "Dost thou thus my favour spurn?" I trembled, for I noticed when the icy monarch frowned
    The reflection of his countenance upon the court around. Each drew a pointed icicle from out an icy sheath,
    They wore as daggers at their sides--for fear I scarce could breathe--
    And brandishing them high aloft, while as their hands they clenched,
    They vowed that such gross insult should not pass unavenged. "Ho! sheath your daggers," quoth the king. "Once more our guest
              we'll try. Base mortal! if thou still refuse to drain yon goblet dry,
    Then dread our fell displeasure, for by our crown we vow,
    The King of Glaciers ne'er is mocked by mortals such as thou." I seized the goblet once again, and in despair did quaff. Now through the banquet hall resounds a wild unearthly laugh. The nauseous fluid seemed to burn like fire through my veins
    I felt intoxication stealing o'er me for my pains. I fell down in a stupor, know not how long I lay,
    But when my eyes were opened 'twas past the break of day. The King and court had vanished, but around me I descried
    A troop of tourists, who that morn the glaciers would bestride. They asked me how I came there, how I could be so mad,
    Alone to scale the glaciers, upon a night so bad. I told them shortly all my tale--all I had got to tell--
    About the awful Glacier King, down in his icy cell. They smiled, and said it truly was a very fearful _dream_;
    But I vowed all that had happened like truth to me did seem. They asked me to point out to them the grotto that I saw. I gazed around me, and behold the grotto was no more. Whether it was dream or not, I know not to this day;
    'Tis strange the grotto in a night should all have thawed away. And when I spoke about the cup I quaffed the cave beneath,
    "_That was my brandy-flask_," quoth one, "_I forced between your
              teeth_." "Else you had perished in the snow, in truth, you looked far gone. 'Twas by the greatest chance on earth we found you here at dawn. I thought you dead, but still I plied my flask, and, as you see,
    It has proved worthy of its name, immortal 'Eau-de-Vie.'" I thanked them for their courtesy, but when I strove to rise,
    No muscle of my rigid frame could I, to my surprise,
    As much as put in motion. My bones seemed on the rack,
    And to my châlet's fire-side had to be carried back. 'Twas long ere I recovered my wonted life and strength;
    The tourists oft would visit me, and we grew friends at length. And the day of my recovery, to mark the grand event,
    I started in their company to make a great ascent. My mountain days are over now, my friends in other climes;
    But when we meet together we talk of bygone times. But still the name of _Glacier_ for ever doth recall
    The horrors of that fearful night, within that icy hall. And at their friendly tables I'm often asked to dine. They order "Vin du Glacier," as well as other wine,
    And ask me if it tastes as well, as o'er their wine they sing,
    As that from out the cellars of H.M. the Glacier King. Hardly had the poet concluded his lay, when the cheering and clapping of
hands that ensued half-deafened all present; that is to say, with the
exception of two individuals--_viz._, the worthy captain and our friend
the comedian, who had been deaf for some time past, under the kindly
influences of the punch. To say that the health of the poet was drunk with three times three
would be unnecessary. We leave that to the imagination of the reader. Not only was that conventional ceremony gone through, but the chairman,
after a short complimentary speech, proposed that a crown of laurels
should be made and the young poet crowned therewith there and then. The poet modestly interposed, but the command of the president,
especially on such an occasion as the present, was not to be recalled. John Hearty, of the "Headless Lady," was sent outside, snowing hard as
it was, to gather some laurel from a bush which grew close to the inn,
and the poet was crowned with all due honours. There were two, however,
who did not witness the imposing ceremony. Who these two were we will
leave our readers to guess. The fumes of the punch had thrown the ideas of these two worthies into
another channel, and the reverie into which they had fallen was so deep
as to render them perfectly unconscious of all that was going on around
them. The captain was the first to recover from his meditations. "Ease her! Stop her!" he cried, awaking with a yawn. Then, glancing round at the company, his eye first caught sight of the
poet's brow crowned with laurels. "Odds bobs, messmate!" he cried, "what the deuce have they been doing to
your figurehead?" "Ah! captain," said one of the members, "you do not know what you have
lost. You've missed a song." "Missed a song, have I? Well, I thought someone must have been singing;
it came in my dream. But what, in the name of Davy Jones, has Mr.
Parnassus been taking. Why, one would think he had been taking a glass
of prussic acid, to break out all over laurel leaves like that." "That," said the chairman, "is the crown awarded to genius. Mr.
Parnassus has this evening--or, I should say, this morning--favoured us
with a poem." "Humph!" said the captain, who was not of a poetical nature himself. "Yes," continued the chairman, "a poem; the work of his own pure brain,
for which he has been rewarded with the crown that now adorns his
temples, a crown of no intrinsic value, as you perceive, like the
bejewelled diadem of royalty, but which, nevertheless, has been sought
after by minds no less ambitious in the early days of ancient history,
when the love of honour alone was a deeper incitement to the soul than
the mere love of worldly pelf, and when once obtained, was guarded as
zealously----"

Here our comic friend showed some signs of returning animation. He
stretched, yawned, and, rubbing his eyes, gazed round upon the company
in bewilderment. He also fixed his eyes on the laurel crown, and so
ludicrous was the expression of wonder on his countenance, although he
did not utter a word, that the whole company was thrown into an
immoderate fit of laughter, which completely drowned the end of the
chairman's sententious speech. The poor little comedian got most
unmercifully chaffed by each of the company in turn, being asked gravely
by one what his opinion was of the last story; by another, whether he
liked the punch--whether it was strong enough for him. By another wag he
was offered a penny for his thoughts; while another insisted upon
hearing the story he had been thinking of all that time, etc., etc. The
little man answered good-humouredly to all their bantering, when the
president once more thumped the table.