he
appetite he possessed on that extraordinary night. He called for another
pork-chop and potatoes, then for pickled salmon; then he thought he
would try a devilled turkey-wing. "I adore the devil," said he.

"So do I," said the pale lady, with unwonted animation; and the dish was
served straightway. It was succeeded by black-puddings, tripe, toasted
cheese, and--what was most remarkable--every one of the dishes which he
desired came from under the same silver cover: which circumstance, when
he had partaken of about fourteen different articles, he began to find
rather mysterious.

"Oh," said the pale lady, with a smile, "the mystery is easily accounted
for: the servants hear you, and the kitchen is BELOW." But this did not
account for the manner in which more half-and-half, bitter ale, punch
(both gin and rum), and even oil and vinegar, which he took with
cucumber to his salmon, came out of the self-same bottle from which the
lady had first poured out his pint of half-and-half.

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Voracio," said his arch
entertainer, when he put this question to her, "than are dreamt of in
your philosophy:" and, sooth to say, the archer was by this time in such
a state, that he did not find anything wonderful more.

"Are you happy, dear youth?" said the lady, as, after his collation, he
sank back in his chair.

"Oh, miss, ain't I?" was his interrogative and yet affirmative reply.

"Should you like such a supper every night, Wolfgang?" continued the
pale one.

"Why, no," said he; "no, not exactly; not EVERY night: SOME nights I
should like oysters."

"Dear youth," said she, "be but mine, and you may have them all the year
round!" The unhappy boy was too far gone to suspect anything, otherwise
this extraordinary speech would have told him that he was in suspicious
company. A person who can offer oysters all the year round can live to
no good purpose.

"Shall I sing you a song, dear archer?" said the lady.

"Sweet love!" said he, now much excited, "strike up, and I will join the
chorus."

She took down her mandolin, and commenced a ditty. 'Twas a sweet and
wild one. It told how a lady of high lineage cast her eyes on a peasant
page; it told how nought could her love assuage, her suitor's wealth
and her father's rage: it told how the youth did his foes engage; and
at length they went off in the Gretna stage, the high-born dame and the
peasant page. Wolfgang beat time, waggled his head,