with a large family, Alick M'Shaw always kept himself in check in every way where expense was concerned, and now for the first time for years he found himself in the position of being able to consume a large quantity of whisky, without being called upon to pay for it. He knew that the time taken up in singing the ballad would be so much time wasted, during which he must perforce leave off drinking; and so, though he had a pretty tenor voice, and sang very fairly, he pleaded a cold and made his excuse. Finally, everybody having been tried, and everybody having in more or less cantankerous manner refused, it fell upon Farmer Whicher to sing that ditty for which he was well known for a score of miles round, which he had sung for nearly a third of a century at various harvest-homes, shearing-feasts, and other country merry-makings, and which never failed--it being a supposed joyous and bacchanalian chant--in crushing the spirits and subduing the souls of those who listened to it. It was a performance which never varied the smallest iota in its details. The intending singer first laid down his pipe, carefully knocking out the ashes, and placing it by his right hand to act on emergency as a conductor's bâton; then, assuming a most dismal expression of countenance, he glared round into the faces of those surrounding him to sue for pity, or to see if there were any chance of a reprieve, and finding neither, he would clear his throat, which was in itself an operation of some magnitude, and commence the song as a solemn recitation; but the chorus, which was duly sung by all present, each man using the most doleful tune with which he was best acquainted, ran thus: "Then push, push, push the bowl about, And push the bowl to me-ee-- The longer we sits here, and drinks, The merr-i-er we shall be!" It is doubtful to what extent this doleful dirge might have been protracted, for the number of verses is beyond human reckoning, and the more frequently the choruses were repeated the more they are prolonged; but Mr. Teesdale, the agent, a shrewd man of business, saw his opportunity for making a cast, and accordingly, at the end of the ninth stanza, he banged the table with such energy that his cue was taken by the more knowing ones, and the harmony was abandoned as Mr. Teesdale went on to say---- "Capital, bravo, excellent! Always look to you, Whicher, to sing us a good song! First time I heard you sing that was years ago, when our old friend Hardy gave us a supper on the occasion of opening his dancing-school! Poor Hardy, not well, eh? or he'd have been here among us. Push the bowl about, eh? Ah, we're likely to have plenty of that sort of fun soon, if I'm correctly informed!" "What's that, Muster Teesdale?" asked Farmer Adams. "Somebody going to be married, eh?" "No, no, one at a time, Adams, one at a time!" "What's comin' off then, Muster Teesdale?"