years ago, when we visited the duke. Even in January the sun in Liguria
warms your back, and makes it easier to breathe. I'm going by way of
Marseilles. Will you give me the corner in your carriage as far as
Avignon?"

"With pleasure! Your health, Pellicanus! A good wish on Christmas day is
apt to be fulfilled."

The artist's deep voice sounded full and cordial, as he uttered the
words. The young soldier heard them, and as Moor and the jester touched
glasses, he raised his own goblet, drained it to the dregs, and asked
modestly: "Will you listen to a few lines of mine, kind sir?"

"Say them, say them!" cried the artist, filling his glass again, while
the lansquenet, approaching the table, fixed his eyes steadily on the
beaker, and in an embarrassed manner, repeated:

"On Christmas-day, when Jesus Christ,
To save us sinners came,
A poor, sore-wounded soldier dared
To call upon his name.
'Oh! hear,' he said, 'my earnest prayer,
For the kind, generous man,
Who gave the wounded soldier aid,
And bore him through the land.
So, in Thy shining chariot,
I pray, dear Jesus mine,
Thou'lt bear him through a happy life
To Paradise divine.'"