"Now—no more of this," shouted Mr. Solomon Gibbs, "I am president here. Where the punch-bowl is, there is a president, and I waive my sceptre, this ladle, and enforce abstention from politics, and all such scurvy subjects. You began it, Taverner, with your damnable ballad of the Catholic cause, and you shall be served last. Comrades! 'To the King, God bless him!'"
"And the Protestant cause!" shouted Taverner.
"Ay, ay, which His Majesty swore to maintain," said the miners.
"Bar politics!" cried Mr. Gibbs, "or, curse it, I'll throw the punch out of the door. I will, I swear I will. Taverner, give us something cheerful—something with no politics in it to set us all by the ears."
"Shall I give you something suitable to the evening, Mr. Gibbs?"
"Certainly—tune up. I wish I had my viol with me to give a few chords; but I set out to look for my niece who had strayed, and I forgot to take my viol with me."
The grey-haired ballad-singer stood up, cleared his throat, and with the utmost gravity sang, throwing marvellous twirls and accidentals into the tune, the following song:
My Lady hath a sable coach
And horses, two and four,
My Lady hath a gaunt bloodhound