been poetized before. Elkton is the first person who has made use of it.”

"Now you're making fun of him, I'm sure," said the little man, as he looked doubtfully in Betterton's face.

"It is impossible to do that," said Betterton," without supposing that he is so excessively sublime, as to be

If the applause which greeted this sometimes mistaken for the ridiculous: song, as Mr. Elkton called upon the-you know somebody says, that band to play See the Conquering Hero there is but one step between them; Comes,' was a criterion of its own and-" merit, and the manner in which it had been sung, then Mr. Elkton might have considered himself set up for life, with fame and fortune, as a poet and vocalist, only waiting his leisure to accept of them. At any rate, he took the lion's share of the praise to himself, in his own mind, and allowed but a modicum of it to his happily selected theme.

"Mr. Elkton calls upon Mr. Dunderly for a song," said the president; and the table repeated the call, and made sundry demonstrations of impatience, when they observed that Mr. Dunderly was not particularly prompt in complying with it.

Mr. Dunderly was the sentimentallooking young gentleman, who sat beside Betterton, and who had recommended the chicken salad; he had been partaking pretty freely of champagne, and had imbibed just sufficient to make him maudlin and pathetic,

"He is a very talented young man, Mr. Betterton!" said the little man who sat opposite to him, alluding to Elkton. "No doubt of it,"-replied Betterton, without being actually intoxicated. "in his own opinion."

"Did you observe, sir," said the little man, without appearing to notice the last part of Betterton's reply, "what a beautiful idea he made use of in the first verse, that of the sun sinking in the west ?"

"Very beautiful!" said Betterton dryly, "and so novel too!"

"How do you mean?" said the little man, as he pricked up his ears, in the hopes of getting a new idea.

He said (as he rose to reply to the energetic thumps that resounded upon all parts of the table, and while the tears started to his eyes) that he "was very sorry that he knew no songs suitable to the present convivial occasion,-that he knew nothing lively, or bacchanalian,-military, nautical, or national; he never sang any thing that was not sentimental."

"A sentimental song! a sentimental song!" cried several, interrupting him. in his apology.

"Oh," said Betterton, "the sinking of the sun in the west, is a very recent "A sentimental song!" hiccoughed discovery, and the figure has never the fat man with the smooth hair, as

he opened his eyes and refilled his wine- | wiped his eyes, and directed the band glass.

to play the "Soldier's Tear.”

and

"Encore! encore !" cried several voices, as Dunderly made his bow, dropped into his seat.

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Mr. Dunderly said, (the tears now rolling down his cheeks,) that he was delighted to find, that even on an occasion like this, the souls of the company "B-e-a-u-ti-ful!" exclaimed the fat were open to sentiment, that senti- man, again opening his eyes, and helpment met with, and struck a responsive ing himself to another glass of wine. chord in their bosoms, and that they Dunderly," said Betterton, winking acknowledged the existence of that to an acquaintance on the other side chord. He would sing them a senti- of the table, "you have surpassed mental song," he said; he would sing yourself, and transported everybody them a song, which combined in itself else." the finest touches of feeling, with the noblest and most elevated aspirations of glory! he would sing them the "Knight's Farewell to his Bride," and he believed that they would be pleased with it for the sake of the sentiment, if not for the sake of the singer. Then, in a thin treble, which dwindled, at the end of each verse, into the echo of itself, he commenced the following song:

MR. DUNDERLY'S SENTIMENTAL SONG.

My steed is champing at the gate,
My sword is at my side;
And I have lingered long and late
With thee, my gentle bride!

But dry the tear that dims thine eye,
Nor look so pale and sad ;
Restrain thy fear, repress that sigh;
Look up, my love, be glad.

For I must seek the battle-field,-
With heroes strive for fame;
And my good lance, and burnished shield,
Shall win a glorious name.

Thou wouldst not wed a knight, unknown
Throughout the lists of fame?
Thou couldst not call that heart thine own,
That sullied was by shame.

Then look, my love, more cheerfully,
And sorrowing give o'er:
For I'll come back, more worthy thee,
Or I'll return no more!

"Or I'll return no more;" sighed Dunderly, repeating the last line, as he

"Do you think so?" said Dunderly, taking out his white pocket-handkerchief for the hundred and fiftieth time.

66

"No doubt about it, my dear fellow," replied Betterton; is admirable this evening."

your voice

"I believe I have some taste in sentimental songs," said Dunderly: " I always feel the full force of them myself, and that I suppose is the reason why I can do them justice."

"Do them justice!" exclaimed Betterton; "you execute them scientifically !"

"It's my turn to call on somebody else," said Dunderly, swallowing the remark as a compliment; "I think I'll call on you, Betterton: you have so much judgment in music, that you must sing well yourself."

"No," said Betterton, looking exceedingly grave, "don't call upon me, for I sing very little; and coming after you, the contrast would quite mortify me ;-it would, I assure you."

"I perceive," said Dunderly, offering him his hand in friendly sympa. thy, "and I respect your feelings. But who shall I call on ?"

"Call on Grinder," said Betterton, as, delight the company with the melody of his double bass voice.

he happened to cast his eyes on that gen-
tleman's rubicund visage; " he sings."
"Which is he?" asked Dunderly.
"That little man, with the red face
and white waistcoat,” replied Betterton,
directing his attention towards him by
a look; "the contrast will be entirely
in your favor: he does not sing at all
in your style."

"Then I'll call on him," said Dunderly, turning to the president, and immediately afterwards, the call for Mr. Grinder's song was heard.

"Mr. Grinder's song! Mr. Grinder's song!" was echoed, again and again, round the table, until the elevation of Mr. Grinder's person in the attitude of compliance silenced the cry.

Mr. Grinder's face was a little redder, and his eyes a little heavier, and his voice a little thicker than it had been when he sat down in the afternoon; but what of that?-Mr. Grinder was not less Mr. Grinder in consequence of these innovations which the generous wine had made in his head his nature was not more natural, and his heart was not softer, as he bustled up from his seat to respond to the call that had been made upon him.

Mr. Grinder's remarks were very brief, and to the purpose. He intimated his entire willingness to sing, provided the company would give him a chorus; and on that condition being complied with, he said, (in that jolly way that was so peculiar to him,) he had no objection to go on singing for a week.

MR. GRINDER'S SONG.

Let poets rave of Greece and Rome,
In all their ancient glory;
They can't compare with our sweet home,
The only glory we desire
Where live both Whig and Tory.

From this our favored nation,

Is that with wealth we may retire
On the fruits of speculation.

"Chorus !" said Mr. Grinder, raising his arm to help it along.

Chorus.

Then success to that nation that loves speculation,

And those who're successful about it;

We'll always be funny, for we've plenty of

money,

And the dull dogs are those who're without it.

We care not for Leonidas

And his three hundred Spartans,
No more than for the famous Bruce,
Or his soldiers, kilts, and tartans.
Let them enjoy their glory great,
And wear their laurels bloody;
But let us live within that state

Where fame is gained by money.
Chorus.-Then success to that nation, &c.
For what is there that can't be bought
By him whose purse wealth ladens?
Power, and fame, and pleasure-aught
From crowns to bashful maidens!
Then let the soldier seek for strife
In other climes more sunny;

We only ask for length of life,

With health and lots of money.
Chorus.

Then success to that nation that loves specu-
lation,

And those who're successful about it; We'll always be funny, for we've plenty of

money,

And the dull dogs are those who're with. out it.

Mr. Grinder called upon the band to play "Hail, Columbia !" as he finished the last line of the chorus, and sat down, amidst a perfect hurricane of cheers. Most of the company entered fully into the spirit of the song, and

A chorus having been readily volunteered, Mr. Grinder proceeded, without much preliminary preparation, to they sympathized heartily with the

Betterton, notwithstanding his objections, had a very good, manly voice, and could sing with much taste when he chose to put himself to the trouble. On this occasion, he did not feel parti-As year after year they grow sinful and old, And their hearts wither up and get callous

"Betterton, you are a complete scorn- | cane from the waiter, and after bowing er," drawled out the sentimental Mr. graciously around him, withdrew. Dunderly; "I begin to think that there isn't a bit of romance about you. Avarice, indeed! you forget the motives, -noble ambition; generous emulation; thirst for glory, and desire—”

"Thank ye, zur," said the man, with them again. After making these re- a broad grin, as Fitz Osborne described marks, or remarks to this effect, he a circle in passing him; "long life, took his hat and gold-headed sword-yer honor!"