Dame Wilson jogged her husband’s arm, to make him remember that talking was his dangerous pastime, and sent abroad a petition for a song-book; and after a space a very doggy-eared book, resembling a poodle of that genus, was handed to her.  Then uprose a shout for this song and that; but Emilia fixed upon the one she had in view, and walked back to her harp, with her head bent, perusing it attentively all the way.  There, she gave the book to Captain Gambier, and begged him to hold it open before her, with a passing light of eyes likely to be rather disturbing to a jealous spectator.  The Captain seized the book without wincing, and displayed a remarkable equanimity of countenance as he held it out, according to direction.  No sooner had Emilia struck a prelude of the well-known air, than the interior of the booth was transfigured; legs began to move, elbows jerked upward, fingers fillipped:  the whole body of them were ready to duck and bow, dance, and do her bidding she had fairly caught their hearts.  For, besides the pleasure they had in their own familiar tune, it was wonderful to them that Emilia should know what they knew.  This was the marvel, this the inspiration.  She smiled to see how true she had struck, and seemed to swim on the pleasure she excited.  Once, as her voice dropped, she looked up at Captain Gambier, so very archly, with the curving line of her bare throat, that Wilfrid was dragged down from his cynical observatory, and made to feel as a common man among them all.

At the “thrum-thrum” on the harp-strings, which wound up the song, frenzied shouts were raised for a repetition.  Emilia was perfectly willing to gratify them; Captain Gambier appeared to be remonstrating with her, but she put up her joined hands, mock-petitioningly, and he with great affability held out the book anew.  Wilfrid was thinking of moving to her to take her forcibly away when she recommenced.

At the same instant—­but who, knowing that a house of glass is about to be shattered, can refrain from admiring its glitter in the beams?—­Ipley crooned a ready accompaniment:  the sleepers had been awakened:  the women and the men were alive, half-dancing, half-chorusing here a baby was tossed, and there an old fellow’s elbow worked mutely, expressive of the rollicking gaiety within him:  the whole length of the booth was in a pleasing simmer, ready to overboil with shouts humane and cheerful, while Emilia pitched her note and led; archly, and quite one with them all, and yet in a way that critical Wilfrid could not object to, so plainly did she sing to give happiness.

I cannot delay; but I request you, that are here privileged to soar aloft with the Muse, to fix your minds upon one point in this flight.  Let not the heat and dust of the ensuing fray divert your attention from the magnanimity of Beer.  It will be vindicated in the end but be worthy of your seat beside the Muse, who alone of us all can take one view of the inevitable two that perplex mortal judgements.