laugh. During this interval Edward Walcott (who was the poet of his class)
volunteered the following song, which, from its want of polish, and from
its application to his present feelings, might charitably be taken for an
extemporaneous production:--

The wine is bright, the wine is bright;
And gay the drinkers be:
Of all that drain the bowl to-night,
Most jollily drain we.
Oh, could one search the weary earth,--
The earth from sea to sea,--
He'd turn and mingle in our mirth;
For we're the merriest three.

Yet there are cares, oh, heavy cares!
We know that they are nigh:
When forth each lonely drinker fares,
Mark then his altered eye.
Care comes upon us when the jest
And frantic laughter die;
And care will watch the parting guest--
Oh late, then let us fly!

Hugh Crombie, whose early love of song and minstrelsy was still alive, had
entered the room at the sound of Edward's voice, in sufficient time to
accompany the second stanza on the violin. He now, with the air of one who
was entitled to judge in these matters, expressed his opinion of the
performance.

"Really, Master Walcott, I was not prepared for this," he said in the tone