Our worthy host, owing to a strong potation he had
imbibed before the commencement of the recital, more than once
manifested symptoms of dropping into the arms of Morpheus, but was
prevented from doing so each time by the opportune administration of
sundry pinches of snuff from Mr. Oldstone's snuff-box. If there was one thing this gentleman never forgave, it was a man going
to sleep in the middle of a good story; he, therefore, as soon as the
narrator had finished, felt it his solemn duty to remonstrate with our
host severely upon his want of good breeding, to which the worthy man
replied in a humble apology to all the company. As for his daughter
Helen, she was attention itself throughout, and with the exception of
Mr. Oldstone, was the loudest in praise of Mr. Crucible's recital. "Well, Helen," said one of the members, "what do you think of the last
story?" "Oh, I am delighted with it," exclaimed the girl in ecstasy. "How I
wish it had happened to me! I should so like to have a vision of that
sort." "Would you my dear?" said Mr. Crucible, "then I hope that if ever you
see the Paradise I saw that you may remain there, for there you belong. You are too good for this earth." "Now then, Crucible, none of your nonsense," said Mr. Oldstone. "Is that
the way you talk to young ladies? I'm surprised at you. Look how you
have made the poor girl blush." "Don't be jealous, old boy," retorted the last narrator, "but give us
another story. This is your turn." "Yes, yes!" cried several voices at once. "Mr. Oldstone for a story! Hear, hear!" "Really, gentlemen," said Mr. Oldstone, "it is so soon after the last,
and as it is now getting somewhat late, I would fain put off my story
for another time, and spend the evening between this and bedtime in some
other way. Suppose we all fill our glasses. Perhaps someone may
recollect a song." "Agreed!" cried all the guests at once, "but who's to be the songster?" "Can't you favour us, Helen?" asked Mr. Parnassus. Helen declared that she could not sing, that she did not know any songs. "Come, come, Helen, that's all nonsense," said the doctor, "I've heard
your voice before now warbling away when you thought no one was
listening to you." "Ay, ay," said our host, "you are right, sir, she _can_ sing when she
likes as pretty a little song as ever you'd wish to hear, though I say
it, that shouldn't." "Come, Helen, don't be shy, sing away my girl," said Hardcase. "Let us make a bargain, Helen," said McGuilp. "If _you_ will sing a
song, _I_ will. There, you cannot refuse." The girl's face brightened up as she stole a glance at our artist, and
thus urged, began in a clear and sweet voice the following ditty:--


THE NIGHTINGALE. The nightingale sang to her love the rose,
      One night when the moon was shining,
    The earth was hushed in still repose,
      But a heart with love was pining. Two lovers through the misty air,
      Beneath the trees were strolling,
    A gallant and a lady fair,
      A bell in the distance tolling. "Beloved, hear'st thou that distant wail,
      That sad and mournful knelling?" "Sweetheart, 'tis but the nightingale,
      That her tale of love is telling." "No, no, 'tis not the nightingale,
      I feel a dire foreboding,
    The night spreads o'er her dusky veil,
      Our joys of love corroding." "Nay, loved one; banish idle fears,
      The moon is bright and beaming,
    Seek not to drown thy joy in tears,
      When thy star above is gleaming." "See here this flower," (he plucked a rose),
      "How beautious is its blossom. Wear this for me, for it but grows,
      To deck thy snow white bosom." Then out and shrieked the nightingale,
      "Oh spare, oh spare, my lover. Too late!" she cries, with dismal wail,
      Beneath the greenwood cover. "Ah me!" outshrieked that bird of night,
      "My love is gone for ever,
    But vengeance waits thee, cruel knight;
      Thou from thy love shalt sever." Too true, alas! the night bird's curse,
      For 'neath the trees did hover,
    An envious wight with arquebus,
      T'await his rival lover. Scarce had the gloomy prophecy
      Died on his ears unheeding,
    When the foe a poisoned shaft let fly,
      And the knight fell pale and bleeding. A lady mourns her love deceased,
      Her eyes in death are rolling,
    The distant tolling knell had ceased,
      But again the knell is tolling. "Thank you, Helen, thank you; very well sung," said several voices at
once. "It is a fanciful and mournful ditty," said Parnassus, "but the tune is
good." "It is, indeed, somewhat melancholy," said McGuilp. "Have you no other,
Helen?" "I did but bargain for one," said the girl, smiling. "True," said McGuilp, "and now you want to hear one from me, eh?" "Precisely so," said Mr. Oldstone. "Keep him to his word, Helen. Don't
let him shirk off." "Now, Mr. McGuilp," said several voices at once, "we are all waiting." "Well, gentlemen," began the painter, "if you will permit me to
retire----"

"Retire!--Oh, nonsense!" exclaimed Oldstone, Crucible, and others
simultaneously. "Why you never mean to back out after having----"

"No, gentlemen, nothing of the sort, I assure you," said our artist, "I
was only going to ask leave of the company to retire a moment to my
chamber to bring down an article indispensable to the song I am about to
sing." "I believe he is going to sing in costume," said Mr. Blackdeed, "and
that he is going in search of some 'property.'" "No, nor that either," said the painter. "The song I shall sing to you
this evening, gentlemen, is an ode that I composed myself to a skull
which I found among some ancient ruins in Rome, and out of which I have
made a drinking cup. As this is a drinking song, in which the cup is
often alluded to, it will be necessary that the goblet itself be
present." "By all means," said several members. "Let us see the precious relic," said the antiquary. "These things are
quite in my line." "And mine too," said the doctor. Our artist left the apartment and returned with the relic, which he
placed in the centre of the table for all to admire. "There, Helen," said he, "that cup was once a man's head, who laughed,
sang, and told stories, too, I've no doubt, like the best of us." "And you use it to drink out of!" exclaimed the girl, in extreme
disgust. "What a horrible idea." Mr. Oldstone put on his spectacles and bent over the table attentively
to examine it. Dr. Bleedem took it up, tapped it, looked at it all over,
and declared that it was different in form to the skulls of the present
day, observing that it was evidently of great antiquity, as the enamel
had worn away. The bone, he said, was of great thickness. The object of general curiosity was handed round the table from one to
the other. At length Mr. Blackdeed took it up, and striking into a
Hamlet-like attitude, quoted at full length the well-known passage:

"'Alas! poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of
most excellent fancy,' etc., etc."