Notwithstanding the prescription of the genial hermit, with which his guest willingly complied, he found it no easy matter to bring the harp to harmony.

“Methinks, holy father,” said he, “the instrument wants one string, and the rest have been somewhat misused.”

“Ay, mark’st thou that?” replied the hermit; “that shows thee a master of the craft. Wine and wassail,” he added, gravely casting up his eyes⁠—“all the fault of wine and wassail!⁠—I told Allan-a-Dale, the northern minstrel, that he would damage the harp if he touched it after the seventh cup, but he would not be controlled⁠—Friend, I drink to thy successful performance.”

So saying, he took off his cup with much gravity, at the same time shaking his head at the intemperance of the Scottish harper.