Still another tankard came. As Sir Spazzo tried to put it down, he stood it up serenely in mid-air. The tankard smashed down upon the floor. He clutched at the abbot's goblet, and emptied that.

A sweet smile enwreathed the chamberlain's lips. He embraced the abbot,

"Friend, brother, beloved old wine-barrel, how would you like me to poke you in the eye?" His tongue struggled, stammered, refused to move. He hugged the abbot closely, treading, booted and spurred, as he was, upon reverend toes. The abbot had been about to offer Sir Spazzo shelter for the night. The embrace changed his purpose.

Sir Spazzo's horse stood in the courtyard. He mounted, then slipped off. At last he sat in the saddle. He pressed his helmet on his head, and grasped his reins. He fought his helpless tongue. For a moment he recovered his power of speech, and, dashing through the gate, he roared:

"The temporal power shall not be interfered with by monkish insolence!"—" Ekkehard."

Students' Songs

Pope and Sultan

THE Pope he leads a happy life;
He fears not married care nor strife;
He drinks the best of Rhenish wine-
I would the Pope's gay lot were mine.

CHORUS

He drinks the best of Rhenish wine-
I would the Pope's gay lot were mine.

But then, all happy's not his life;
He has not maid nor blooming wife,
Nor child has he to raise his hope-
I would not wish to be the Pope.

The Sultan better pleases me;
His is a life of jollity;

His wives are many as his will

I would the Sultan's throne then fill.

But even he's a wretched man;

He must obey his Alcoran;

And dares not drink one drop of wine

I would not change his lot for mine.

So, then, I'll hold my lowly stand,
And live in German fatherland;
I'll kiss my maiden fair and fine,
And drink the best of Rhenish wine.

Whene'er my maiden kisses me,
I'll think that I the Sultan be;
And when my cheery glass I tope,
I'll fancy then I am the Pope.

Credo

FOR the sole edification
Of this decent congregation,
Goodly people, by your grant
I will sing a holy chant,

I will sing a holy chant.

If the ditty sound but oddly,

'Twas a father, wise and godly,

Sang it so long ago.

Then sing as Martin Luther sang: "Who loves not woman, wine, and song, Remains a fool his whole life long!"

He, by custom patriarchal,

Loved to see the beaker sparkle;
And he thought the wine improved,
Tasted by the lips he loved,

By the kindly lips he loved.
Friends, I wish this custom pious
Duly were observed by us,

To combine love, song, wine,

And sing as Martin Luther sang,

As Doctor Martin Luther sang:

"Who loves not woman, wine, and song, Remains a fool his whole life long!"

Who refuses this our Credo,
And who will not sing as we do,
Were he holy as John Knox,
I'd pronounce him heterodox,

I'd pronounce him heterodox,
And from out this congregation,
With a solemn commination,

Banish quick the heretic, Who'll not sing as Luther sang, As Doctor Martin Luther sang:

"Who loves not woman, wine, and song, Remains a fool his whole life long!"

Gustav von Moser

An Exacting Uncle

MACDONALD and MRS. DICKSON.

Mac. (an old gentleman, loud-voiced, brusk, self-opinionated). Good morning! (He looks about.)

Mrs. Dick. What can I do for you, sir?

Mac. Does young Mr. Macdonald live here, eh?
Mrs. Dick. Certainly; but he has just gone out.

Mac. Aha, so much the better. You, I presume, are the elderly landlady, eh?

Mrs. Dick. (Aside.) What an extraordinary person! Mac. My name, madam, is Macdonald. I am that young man's uncle.

Mrs. Dick. Heaven have mercy on us!

Mac. Aha! You seem to be frightened! That doesn't show a quiet conscience, eh? That nephew of mine is a good-for-nothing, no doubt?

Mrs. Dick. Oh

Mac. Answer, woman!

Mrs. Dick. Heaven forbid! What makes you imagine such things? Your nephew is a most proper young man. Mac. Pah! Proper! I'm sorry to hear it-mighty sorry! (He looks about.)

Mrs. Dick. (Aside.) This person is not in his right mind.

Mac. (smiling). Cards on the table! Ha-ha-ha! So the boy gambles!