THE LAST BOTTLE.

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sand, his double glass were wetted full with bur-gundy. How it would refresh and revivify hisdry ribs! how it would re-create and beautifyhis filthy skeleton form! but he must do histhankless office, while he listens to that third gleewhich he with the plumed bonnet trolls forth :•—

Let the sparkling glass go round,

The sparkling glass where care is drowned;

For while we drink, we live, we live!Let the joyous roof ring with the measure,The sweetest of the muses' treasure

That Music's voice can give.Thus crowned, the present beams with pleasure,

The memory of the past is lighter,

The prospect of the future brighter—And while we drink, we live, we live.

Chorus. —We live, we live, we live, we live,

For while we drink, we live, we live.

Another cork is drawn. At the smacking soundcares, fears, pains, fly from the unruffled soul ofman, as wild fowl fly from the placid lake at thereport of the fowler's gun. The undulating agi-tation of the instant,—the centric, concentric,elliptic, parabolic, and every imaginary shapeinto which its glancing bosom is broken, ripplesand sparkles with light, and all then gently sub-