never forgave, it was a man going
to sleep in the middle of a good story; he, therefore, as soon as the
narrator had finished, felt it his solemn duty to remonstrate with our
host severely upon his want of good breeding, to which the worthy man
replied in a humble apology to all the company. As for his daughter
Helen, she was attention itself throughout, and with the exception of
Mr. Oldstone, was the loudest in praise of Mr. Crucible's recital.

"Well, Helen," said one of the members, "what do you think of the last
story?"

"Oh, I am delighted with it," exclaimed the girl in ecstasy. "How I
wish it had happened to me! I should so like to have a vision of that
sort."

"Would you my dear?" said Mr. Crucible, "then I hope that if ever you
see the Paradise I saw that you may remain there, for there you belong.
You are too good for this earth."

"Now then, Crucible, none of your nonsense," said Mr. Oldstone. "Is that
the way you talk to young ladies? I'm surprised at you. Look how you
have made the poor girl blush."

"Don't be jealous, old boy," retorted the last narrator, "but give us
another story. This is your turn."

"Yes, yes!" cried several voices at once. "Mr. Oldstone for a story!
Hear, hear!"

"Really, gentlemen," said Mr. Oldstone, "it is so soon after the last,
and as it is now getting somewhat late, I would fain put off my story
for another time, and spend the evening between this and bedtime in some
other way. Suppose we all fill our glasses. Perhaps someone may
recollect a song."

"Agreed!" cried all the guests at once, "but who's to be the songster?"

"Can't you favour us, Helen?" asked Mr. Parnassus.

Helen declared that she could not sing, that she did not know any songs.

"Come, come, Helen, that's all nonsense," said the doctor, "I've heard
your voice before now warbling away when you thought no one was
listening to you."

"Ay, ay," said our host, "you are right, sir, she _can_ sing when she
likes as pretty a little song as ever you'd wish to hear, though I say
it, that shouldn't."

"Come, Helen, don't be shy, sing away my girl," said Hardcase.

"Let us make a bargain, Helen," said McGuilp. "If _you_ will sing a
song, _I_ will. There, you cannot refuse."

The girl's face brightened up as she stole a glance at our artist, and
thus urged, began in a clear and sweet voice the following ditty:--

THE NIGHTINGALE.

The nightingale sang to her love the rose,
One night when the