Chorus. Oh, I am a drinker, I, etc."
"Your turn now, young master!" cried the third table. "Our elders have set us the proper example to follow."
"With all my heart," replied Jules; and he sang the following verses:
"God Bacchus, throned upon a cask,
Hath bid me love the bell-mouthed flask;
Hath bid me vow these lips of mine
Shall own no drink but wine!
Chorus. But wine, boys, but wine!
We'll drain, we'll drain the bottles dry,
And swear the drink divine!
"Nor emperor nor king may know
The joys that from our bumpers flow—
The mirth that makes the dullest shine—
Who owns no drink but wine!
Chorus. But wine, boys, but wine! etc.
"Let wives go knit and sweethearts spin,
We've wine to drown our troubles in.
We'll sing the praises of the vine,
And own no drink but wine!
Chorus. But wine, boys, but wine! etc."
The example once set by the hosts, everybody made haste to follow it, and song succeeded song with ever-increasing fervor. Then Father Chouinard, a retired veteran of the French army after two songs which won great applause, suggested that it was time to withdraw. He thanked the seigneur for his hospitality, and proposed to drink his health once again—a proposition which was received with loud enthusiasm.