a prisoner back to England-thus escaping the punishment she so richly merited for her odious crime, although there were not wanting those who stoutly maintained that the charge had by no means been conclusively brought home to her. However, after occupying the public mind for more than the proverbial nine days, the "Youngson Case," as it was called, gave place to a fresher sensation. OLD ENGLISH DRINKING SONGS. PROBE If wine and music have the power To ease the sickness of the soul.-Prior. ROBABLY the great superiority of our English convivial songs over those of other nations is due to the peculiarly social character of the people. Nearly three hundred years have elapsed since the first English drinking song of merit was written, and during that time our noblest and best poets have paid their vows to Bacchus. The very wisest and the best of men have been, not drunkards, but wine drinkers; they have neither avoided the bottle nor concealed their regard for it. At all times men have sung of wine, and apparently all classes have found something to commend in the virtue of their lyrics. Horace sang of Falernian, Tom d'Urfey of wine, Bishop Still of ale, Rabelais of absinthe, and Burns of whisky. Unfortunately, Johnson had to shun the cup-he loved it too well. Addison was an acknowledged drinker, and Pope a secret one. Plato recommended wine, and Aristotle advised it. The first drinking song of merit, in English, occurs in that quaint old comedy of Bishop Still's, "Gammer Gurton's Needle." The lines are too well known to need quoting : I cannot eat but little meat, My stomach is not good; But sure I think that I can drink With him that wears a hood. From the period when dancing round the Maypole was in vogue date these two songs. The first (1593) runs : Bonny Bacchus, god of wines, Water to drinke, I hold not goode, The second is as follows: The gods of Love Which raigne above, Let Bacchus find Their hearts most kind To every guest. And long may Bacchus brave it here, In pleasures to abound, That wine and beer, and belly gut cheere, With plenty here be found. I pray likewise, That ere you rise, You drink your fill; That no man want, Nor find it skant, Whereof to swill. Then may you all carouse in blisse, Who lives in this he cannot misse, But straight to Heaven goe. When Charles II. was king there was a great outburst of convivial song writing. Then lived and flourished the author of "Pills to Purge Melancholy "-Tom d'Urfey, over whose somewhat coarse wit Charles's wild Court used to spend many a night. Tom Brown also flourished in the seventeenth century. One of his best songs was THE WHET. Wine, wine in a morning, Makes us frolic and gay, 'Tis the sun ripes the grape, And to drinking gives light: We imitate him When by moon we're at heigh; They steal wine who take it When he's out of sight. Brome, the Attorney of the Lord Mayor's Court, the Royalist at heart and the Roundhead by force, published several of this class of songs in the "Rump." One "On Canary" is excellent : 1 Of all the rare juices That Bacchus or Ceres produces, There's none that I can, nor dare I, Compare with the princely Canary. That a fancy infuses ; This first got a king, And next the nine Muses; 'Twas this made old poets so sprightly to sing, And fill all the world with the glory and fame on't; They Helicon call'd it, and the Thespian spring, But this was the drink, though they knew not the name on't. From the Revolution to the time of Burns, Dibdin, and Morris there is not much that is worth chronicling in the world of convivial song. Dibdin wrote a few and Sheridan a few, and Wolfe his noble "How stands the glass around?" Burns never penned a better song than "Willie brew'd a peck o' maut." It is inherent with cheerful good-fellowship, and very rhythmical in style. It is perhaps the best specimen of a drinking song which Scotland owns. Byron only left us one, "Fill the goblet again," and Tom Moore none, although such titles as "Come, send round the wine" and "Drink of this cup" are suggestive of conviviality. Barry Cornwall's are classical gems, particularly his lines entitled "Wine." I love wine! Bold, bright wine! That maketh the spirit both dance and shine! Others may care for water fare, But give me Wine! and his still more poetical Sing!-Who sings To her who weareth a hundred rings? Ah, who is this lady fine? The Vine, boys, the Vine! "Collection of the Choycest Poems and Songs relating to the late Times, from 1639 to 1661." The mother of mighty Wine, A roamer is she O'er wall and tree, And sometimes very good company. We must not forget the following quaint song by the author of "The Groves of Blarney "-" Honest Dick Milliken." HAD I THE TUN WHICH BACCHUS used. Had I the tun which Bacchus used, I'd sit on it all day; For, while a can it ne'er refused, He nothing had to pay. My friend should sit as well as I, And take a jovial pot; For he who drinks-although he's dry- But since the tun which Bacchus used We have not here--what then? Since god-like toping is refused, Let's drink like honest men, In the county of Somerset, even at the present time, the country people sing this version of the old song THE LEATHERN BOTTÈL. God above, who rules all things, Monks and abbots, and beggars and kings, The ships that in the sea do swim, The earth, and all that is therein, Not forgetting the old cow's hide, And everything else in the world beside, Oh! what do you say to the glasses fine? To fill them with liquor as fast as he can, The man he falls in coming away And sheds the liquor so fine and gay. Oh! what do you say to the tankard fine? Oh! it shall have no praise of mine. Suppose a man and his wife fall out, And such things happen sometimes no doubt; But, &c, |