"No streamlet on the hill-side
But finds its course to run;
But not a hand to open
My pathway to the sun.

"The sun, the moon, the stars,
And all the firmament,
Shall hang in mourning for me
Till my long night be spent."

Ivo fidgeted in his chair: this song was the expression of his own
fate.

"Don't go," said Constantine, perceiving his uneasiness.

"Babbett, you don't do like the host at Cana: you give the good wine
first and the bad afterward. You've brought Lutheran and Catholic wine
together: that'll be a mixed marriage."

"'When the mice have had enough, the flour is bitter,'" answered the
hostess.

"'Tell you what," cried Constantine; "we'll drink hot wine now."

"You've had enough for to-day," said Barbara.

"What we can't drink we can pour into our shoes. Let's make a night of
it. Are you for it?--and you? and you?"

Every one nodded, and sang,--

"Brothers, let's go it
And drink while we're young;
Age will come quickly
And dry up the tongue.
For the gentle wine
Was made for good fellows:
Brothers, be mellow,
And drink the good wine."

The "warm wine" which was brought would have provoked a smile from any
American or English boon companion. It bore about the same relation to
mulled wine which water-gruel has to pepper-pot. The heat it had
received from the fire was counterbalanced by the infusion of water
until a child might have fattened upon it unharmed. But Germans can
sing more drinking-songs over a cup of vinegar than would be heard in
an American bar-room where brandy enough has been swallowed to account
for a dozen murders.

Constantine welcomed the arrival of the beverage with a song, which he
accompanied with his fists on the table:--

"I and my old wife,
We go the whole figure;
She carries the beggar's pouch,
And I sing the jigger.
Bring some Bavarian beer;
Let's be Bavarians here;
Bavarians, Bavarians let us be here.

"She's gone to town to beg,
I wait and snicker;
What she'll bring back with her
I'll spend for liquor.