"Come, fill your glass, my trusty friend, And fill it sparkling to the brim-- A flowing bumper, bright and strong-- And push the bottle back again; For what is man without his drink? An oyster prison'd in his shell; A rushlight in the vaults of death; A rattlesnake without his tail. CHORUS. This world, we know, is full of cares, And sorrow darkens every day; But wine and love shall be the stars To light us on our weary way. Beyond yon hills there lives a lass, Her name I dare not even speak; The wine that sparkles in my glass Was ne'er so rosy as her cheek. Her neck is clearer than the spring That streams the water lilies on; So, here's to her I long have loved-- The fairest flower in Albion. Let knaves and fools this world divide, As they have done since Adam's time; Let misers by their hoards abide, And poets weave their rotten rhyme; But ye, who, in an hour like this, Feel every pulse to rapture move, Fill high! each lip the goblet kiss-- The pledge shall be--'The Lass we Love!'" After a good deal of roaritorious applause, the young gentlemen began to act upon the hint contained in the song, and each to give, as a toast, the lady of his heart. When it came to Elliot's turn, he declared he was unable to fulfil the conditions of the toast, as there was not a woman in the world for whom he had the slightest predilection. "Why, thou personified snowball! thou human icicle!" cried Whitaker. "Say an avalanche," interrupted Frank; "for, when once my heart is shaken, it will be as irresistible in its course as one of these 'thunderbolts of snow.'" "Still, it's nothing but cold snow, for all that," cried Harry. "Who talks of Frank Elliot and love in the same breath?" cried Rhimeson; "why, his heart is like a rock, and love, like a torpid serpent, enclosed in it." "True," replied Frank; "but, you know, these same serpents sting as hard as ever when once they get into the open air; besides, love, as the shepherd in Virgil discovered, is an inhabitant of the rocks." "Confound the fellow! he's a walking apothegm--as consequential as a syllogism!" muttered Harry; "but come now, Frank, let us have the inexpressive she, without backing and filling any longer." "Upon my word, Harry, it is out of my power; but, in a few weeks, I hope to"----said Elliot. "Hope, Frank, hope, my good fellow, is a courtier very pleasant and agreeable in his conversation, but very much given to forget his promises. But I'll tell you, Frank, since you won't give a toast, I will, because I know it will punish you--so, gentlemen"----