assuming various characters. s—a Methodist missionary-the patentee of some unheard-of invention—the director of some new joint-stock company-in short, anything which would give him an opportunity of telling tremendous bouncers, was equally good for Tom. His reason for assuming a military guise on this occasion was to bother Moriarty, whom he knew he should meet, and had a special reason for tormenting; and he knew he could achieve this, by throwing all the stories Moriarty was fond of telling about his own service into the shade, by extravagant inventions of 'hair-breadth 'scapes,' and feats by 'flood and field.' Indeed, the dinner would not be worth mentioning, but for the extraordinary capers Tom cut on the occasion, and the unheard-of lies he squandered.

Dinner was announced by Andy, and with good appetite soup and fish were soon despatched; sherry followed as a matter of necessity. The second course appeared, and was not long under discussion when Dick called for the 'champagne.'

Andy began to drag the tub towards the table, and Dick, impatient of delay, again called 'Champagne.'

'I'm bringin' it to you, sir,' said Andy, tugging at the tub. 'Hand it round the table,' said Dick.

Andy tried to lift the tub, 'to hand it round the table'; but finding he could not manage it, he whispered to Dick, ‘I can't get it up, sir.'

Dick, fancying Andy meant he had got a flask not in a sufficient state of effervescence to expel its own cork, whispered in return, ‘Draw it, then.'

'I was dhrawin' it to you, sir, when you stopped me.' 'Well, make haste with it,' said Dick.

'Mister Dawson, I'll trouble you for a small slice of the turkey,' said the colonel.

'With pleasure, colonel; but first do me the honour to take champagne. Andy—champagne !'

'Here it is, sir!' said Andy, who had drawn the tub close to Dick's chair.

'Where's the wine, sir?' said Dick, looking first at the tub and then at Andy.

'There, sir,' said Andy, pointing down to the ice. the wine into it, as you towld me.'

'I put

Dick looked again at the tub, and said, 'There is not a single bottle there what do you mean, you stupid rascal?'

'To be sure, there's no bottle there, sir. The bottles is all on the side-boord, but every dhrop o' the wine is in the ice, as you towld me, sir; if you put your hand down into it, you'll feel it, sir.'

The conversation between master and man growing louder as it proceeded, attracted the attention of the whole company, and those near the head of the table became acquainted as soon as Dick with the mistake Andy had made, and could not resist laughter; and as the cause of their merriment was told from man to man, and passed round the board, a roar of laughter uprose, not a little increased by Dick's look of vexation, which at length was forced to yield to the infectious merriment around him, and he laughed with the rest, and making a joke of the disappointment, which is the very best way of passing one off, he said that he had the honour of originating at his table a magnificent scale of hospitality; for though he had heard of company being entertained with a whole hogshead of claret, he was not aware of champagne being ever served in tubs before. The company were too determined to be merry to have their pleasantry put out of tune by so trifling a mishap, and it was generally voted that the joke was worth twice as much as the wine. Nevertheless, Dick could not help casting a reproachful look now and then at Andy, who had to run the gauntlet of many a joke cut at his expense while he waited upon the wags at dinner, and caught a lowly-muttered anathema whenever he passed near Dick's chair. In short, master and man were both glad when the cloth was drawn, and the party could be left to themselves.

Then, as a matter of course, Dick called on the gentlemen to charge their glasses, and fill high to a toast he had to propose they would anticipate to whom he referred--a gentleman who was going to change his state of freedom for one of a happier bondage, etc. etc. Dick dashed off his speech with several mirth-moving allusions to the change that was coming over his friend Tom, and having festooned his composition with the proper quantity of 'rosy wreaths,' etc. etc. etc., naturally belonging to such speeches, he wound up with some few hearty words—free from badinage, and meaning all they conveyed, and finished with the rhyming benediction of a ‘long life and a good wife' to him.

Tom having returned thanks in the same laughing style

that Dick proposed his health, and bade farewell to the lighter follies of bachelorship for the more serious ones of wedlock, the road was now open for any one who was vocally inclined. Dick asked one or two, who said they were not within a bottle of their singing point yet, but Tom Durfy was sure his friend the colonel would favour them.

'With pleasure,' said the colonel; 'and I'll sing something appropriate to the blissful situation of philandering in which you have been indulging of late, my friend. I wish I could give you any idea of the song as I heard it warbled by the voice of an Indian princess, who was attached to me once, and for whom I ran enormous risks-but no matter that's past and gone, but the soft tones of Zulima's voice will ever haunt my heart!—The song is a favourite where I heard it—on the borders of Cashmere, and is supposed to be sung by a fond woman in the valley of the nightingales,—'tis so in the original, but as we have no nightingales in Ireland, I have substituted the dove in the little translation I have made, which, if you'll allow me, I'll attempt.'

Loud cries of 'Hear, hear,' and tapping of applauding hands on the table followed, while the colonel gave a few preliminary hems; and after some little pilot tones from his throat to show the way, his voice ascended in all the glory of song.

THE DOVE-SONG

I

Coo! Coo! Coo! Coo!

Thus did I hear the turtle-dove,

Coo! Coo! Coo!

Murmuring forth her love;

And as she flew from tree to tree,
How melting seemed the notes to me--
Coo! Coo! Coo!-

So like the voice of lovers,

'Twas passing sweet to hear,
The birds within the covers,
In the spring-time of the year.

II

Coo! Coo! Coo! Coo!

Thus the song's returned again

Coo! Coo! Coo!

Through the shady glen;

But there I wandered lone and sad,
While every bird around was glad.
Coo! Coo! Coo!

Thus so fondly murmured they,
Coo! Coo! Coo!

While my love was away.
And yet the song to lovers,
Though sad, is sweet to hear,
From birds within the covers,

In the spring-time of the year.

The colonel's song, given with Tom Loftus's good voice, was received with great applause, and the fellows all voted it catching, and began 'cooing' round the table like a parcel of pigeons.

'A translation from an Eastern poet, you say?'

'Yes,' said Tom.

"Tis not very Eastern in its character,' said Moriarty.

'I mean a free translation, of course,' added the mock colonel.

'Would you favour us with the song again, in the original?' added Moriarty.

Tom Loftus did not know one syllable of any other language than his own, and it would not have been convenient to talk gibberish to Moriarty, who had a smattering of some of the Eastern tongues; so he declined giving his Cashmerian song in its native purity, because, as he said, he never could manage to speak their dialect, though he understood it reasonably well.

'But there's a gentleman I am sure will sing some other song-and a better one, I have no doubt,' said Tom, with a very humble prostration of his head on the table, and anxious by a fresh song to get out of the dilemma in which Moriarty's question was near placing him.

'Not a better, colonel,' said the gentleman who was addressed; but I cannot refuse your call, and I will do my best ;-hand me the port wine, pray; I always take a glass of port before I sing-I think 'tis good for the throat-what do you say, colonel ? '

'When I want to sing particularly well,' said Tom, 'I drink canary?