Helen. The decree was greeted with
cheers, and Helen, blushing deeply and smiling, placed it on the head of
the newly-discovered poet, our artist receiving it on bended knee amid
the cheering of the club. McGuilp having risen from his knees, took his
seat again at the table by the side of our host's pretty daughter, then
rising to his feet and raising the skull aloft, he proposed the
following toast in these words:--

"Gentlemen, I propose the health of the 'Wonder Club,' and that of our
worthy host and his fair daughter, our guest, to be drunk by every
member present solemnly and devoutly from this goblet."

More cheering, during which McGuilp took a sip at the funereal chalice,
and then passed it on to his neighbour, who did the same, each member in
his turn sipping and nodding round to the rest.

When the skull had been the round of the table, it was then passed on to
our host, who hoped that the company would excuse him, but that his
lips had never yet been contaminated by dead men's bones, and he hoped
they never would be.

Persuasions and remonstrances from the members were alike vain, for
neither our host nor his daughter could be persuaded to touch the
sacrilegious relic.

In order not to give offence to the company, our host proclaimed his
willingness to drink the toast out of a clean glass. This was at length
agreed to, and the worthy man rose, and in a short bluff speech, thanked
the company present for having drunk his health and that of his
daughter. A clapping of hands followed our host's speech, and then Mr.
Crucible, being the eldest member, returned thanks on the part of the
club.

At that moment the hooting of an owl was heard outside. Helen turned
pale, and instinctively drew nearer to our artist.

"Why, Helen my girl!" cried the doctor, "how pale you are. What are you
frightened at?"

"Do you not hear?" said the girl. "It is the cry of the owl; they say it
is a sign of death in the house."

"Come, Helen," said Hardcase, "you must not be superstitious; those
things are all nonsense."

"Oh, no, I can assure you----" began the girl, when Mr. Oldstone broke
in.

"I say, Mr. Poet Laureate, look how your fair companion trembles at your
side. Cannot you think of some lay that might cheer her spirits and
dispel her fears? Just try."

"Well," answered he of the laurel crown, "talking about owls, I once
kept a pet owl myself, that I captured one night in a nook under the
arches of the Colosseu