The authorities are against me in the use of this word. Dr. Johnson has it beaker, a cup with a beak or spout. In the north of England and the south of Scotland bicker means a bowl, without any any reference to the beak. I incline to the belief that Johnson is altogether wrong, and that the true derivation of the word is from the Teutonic becker, a drinking cup. However, my rhyme requires it be bicker,―so bicker let it be, as far as the present ballad ís concerned. No rhymer can give a more satisfactory answer than the exigencies of his rhyme.

The third drop makes them shout and roar,
And play each furious antic.

The fourth drop boils their very blood,
The fifth drop drives them frantic !

And still they drink the burning draught,
Till old Count Casko'whisky

Holds his bluff sides with laughter fierce,
To see them all so frisky.

"More! more!" they cry, come give us more!
More of that right good liquor!
Fill up, old boy, that we may drain
Down to the dregs your bicker!"

The demon spurs his fiery steed,

And laughs a laugh so hollow, Then waves his bicker in the air, And beckons them to follow.

On! on! he rides, and onwards rush,
The heedless thousands after,
While over hill and valley wide,
Resounds his fiendlike laughter.

On! on! they rush through mud and mire,
On! on! they rush, exclaiming,
"O Casko'whisky give us more,
More of thy liquor flaming!"

At last he stops his foaming steed,
Beside a rushing river,

Whose waters to the palate sweet,

Are poison to the liver.

"There!" says the demon, "drink your fillDrink of these waters mellow,

They'll make your bright eyes blear and dull, And turn your white skins yellow.

"They'll cause the little sense you have

By inches to forsake you,

They'll cause your limbs to faint and fail,

And palsies dire to shake you !

"They'll fill your homes with care and grief,
And clothe your backs with tatters,
They'll fill your hearts with evil thoughts,—
But never mind!—what matters ?

"Though virtue sink, and reason fail,
And social ties dissever,

I'll be your friend in hour of need,
And find you homes forever!

"For I have built three mansions high,

Three strong and goodly houses,

To lodge at last each jolly soul

Who all his life carouses!