To-day we’ll haste to quaff our wine,
  As if to-morrow ne’er should shine;
  But if to-morrow comes, why then—­
  We’ll haste to quaff our wine again.

  Let me, oh, my budding vine,
  Spill no other blood than thine. 
  Yonder brimming goblet see,
  That alone shall vanquish me.

  I pray thee, by the gods above,
  Give me the mighty howl I love,
  And let me sing, in wild delight. 
  “I will—­I will be mad to-night!”

  When Father Time swings round his scythe,
  Intomb me ’neath the bounteous vine,
  So that its juices red and blythe,
  May cheer these thirsty bones of mine.

  —­Eugene Field.

See also Drinking.

WISHES

George Washington drew a long sigh and said:  “Ah wish Ah had a hundred watermillions.”

Dixie’s eyes lighted.  “Hum!  Dat would suttenly be fine!  An’ ef yo’ had a hundred watermillions would yo’ gib me fifty?”

“No, Ah wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t yo’ give me twenty-five?”

“No, Ah wouldn’t gib yo’ no twenty-five.”

Dixie gaxed with reproachful eyes at his close-fisted friend.  “Seems to me, you’s powahful stingy, George Washington,” he said, and then continued in a heartbroken voice.  “Wouldn’t yo’ gib me one?”

“No, Ah wouldn’t gib yo’ one.  Look a’ heah, nigger!  Are yo’ so good for nuffen lazy dat yo’ cahn’t wish fo’ yo’ own watermillions?”

  “Man wants but little here below
    Nor wants that little long,”
  ’Tis not with me exactly so;
    But’tis so in the song. 
  My wants are many, and, if told,
    Would muster many a score;
  And were each a mint of gold,
    I still should long for more.

  —­John Quincy Adams.

WITNESSES

“The trouble is,” said Wilkins as he talked the matter over with his counsel, “that in the excitement of the moment I admitted that I had been going too fast, and wasn’t paying any attention to the road just before the collision.  I’m afraid that admission is going to prove costly.”

“Don’t wory about that,” said his lawyer.  “I’ll bring seven witnesses to testify that they wouldn’t believe you under oath.”

On his eighty-fourth birthday, Paul Smith, the veteran Adirondock hotel-keeper, who started life as a guide and died owning a million dollars’ worth of forest land, was talking about boundary disputes with an old friend.

“Didn’t you hear of the lawsuit over a title that I had with Jones down in Malone last summer?” asked Paul.  The friend had not heard.

“Well,” said Paul, “it was this way.  I sat in the court room before the case opened with my witnesses around me.  Jones busted in, stopped, looked my witnesses over carefully, and said:  ’Paul, are those your witnesses?’ ‘They are,’ said I.  ‘Then you win,’ said he.  ’I’ve had them witnesses twice myself.’”