on the brim [vành ly], the doctor's four guests snatched [vồ] their glasses from the table, and swallowed the contents at a single gulp [nuốt]. Was it delusion? [ảo giác] even while the draught was passing down their throats, it seemed to have wrought [làm] a change on their whole systems. Their eyes grew clear and bright; a dark shade deepened among their silvery locks, they sat around the table, three gentlemen of middle age, and a woman, hardly beyond her buxom [nẩy nở] prime.

"My dear widow, you are charming!" cried Colonel Killigrew, whose eyes had been fixed upon her face, while the shadows of age were flitting [vụt qua] from it like darkness from the crimson daybreak.

The fair widow knew, of old, that Colonel Killigrew's compliments were not always measured by sober truth; so she started up and ran to the mirror, still dreading that the ugly visage of an old woman would meet her gaze. Meanwhile, the three gentlemen behaved in such a manner as proved that the water of the Fountain of Youth possessed some intoxicating qualities; unless, indeed, their exhilaration of spirits were merely a lightsome dizziness caused by the sudden removal of the weight of years. Mr. Gascoigne's mind seemed to run on political topics, but whether relating to the past, present, or future, could not easily be determined, since the same ideas and phrases have been in vogue these fifty years. Now he rattled forth full-throated sentences about patriotism, national glory, and the people's right; now he muttered some perilous stuff or other, in a sly and doubtful whisper, so cautiously that even his own conscience could scarcely catch the secret; and now, again, he spoke in measured accents, and a deeply deferential tone, as if a royal ear were listening to his wellturned periods. Colonel Killigrew all this time had been trolling forth a jolly bottle song, and ringing his glass in symphony with the chorus, while his eyes wandered toward the buxom figure of the Widow Wycherly. On the other side of the table, Mr. Medbourne was involved in a calculation of dollars and cents, with which was strangely intermingled a project for supplying the East Indies with ice, by harnessing a team of whales to the polar icebergs.

As for the Widow Wycherly, she stood before the mirror courtesying [lịch sự] and simpering [cười điệu] to her own image, and greeting it as the friend whom she loved better than all the world beside. She thrust her face close to the glass, to see whether some long-remembered wrinkle [nếp nhăn] or crow's foot had indeed vanished. She examined whether the snow had so entirely melted [tan biến] from her hair that the venerable cap could be safely thrown aside. At last, turning briskly [lanh lợi] away, she came with a sort of dancing step to the table.

"My dear old doctor," cried she, "pray favor me with another glass!"

"Certainly, my dear madam, certainly!" replied the complaisant [dễ tính] doctor; "see! I have already filled the glasses."

There, in fact, stood the four glasses, brimful of this wonderful water, the delicate spray of which, as it effervesced from the surface, resembled [giống với] the tremulous [rung rinh] glitter [lấp lánh] of diamonds. It was now so nearly sunset that the chamber had grown duskier than ever; but a mild and moonlike splendor [sự huy hoàng, chói lọi] gleamed [phát ra] from within the vase, and rested alike on the four guests and on the doctor's venerable figure. He sat in a high-backed, elaborately-carved, oaken arm-chair, with a gray [xám, giàu kinh nghiệm] dignity [vẻ nghiêm trang] of aspect [diện mạo] that might have well befitted that very Father Time, whose power had never been disputed, save by this fortunate company. Even while quaffing [nốc cạn] the third draught of the Fountain of Youth, they were almost awed [sợ hãi] by the expression of his mysterious visage.

But, the next moment, the exhilarating [vui vẽ] gush [bộc lộ] of young life shot through their veins [tâm trạng]. They were now in the happy prime of youth. Age, with its miserable train of cares and sorrows and diseases, was remembered only as the trouble of a dream, from which they had joyously awoke. The fresh gloss of the soul, so early lost, and without which the world's successive scenes had been but a gallery of faded pictures, again threw its enchantment [sự vui thích] over all their prospects [viễn cảnh]. They felt like new-created beings in a new-created universe.

"We are young! We are young!" they cried exultingly [hoan hỉ].

Youth, like the extremity of age, had effaced the strongly-marked characteristics of middle life, and mutually [lẫn nhau] assimilated [tiêu hoá] them all. They were a group of merry youngsters, almost maddened with the exuberant [dồi dào, hồ hởi] frolicsomeness [nô đùa] of their years. The most singular effect of their gayety [trò vui] was an impulse [thôi thúc] to mock [chế nhạo] the infirmity [yếu ớt] and decrepitude [già yếu. lụ khụ] of which they had so lately been the victims. They laughed loudly at their old-fashioned attire [quần áo], the wide-skirted coats and flapped [lòng thòng] waistcoats of the young men, and the ancient cap and gown [áo choàng] of the blooming girl. One limped across the floor like a gouty grandfather; one set a pair of spectacles [mắt kiếng] astride of his nose, and pretended to pore [nhìn mãi mê] over the black-letter pages of the book of magic; a third seated himself in an arm-chair, and strove to imitate the venerable dignity of Dr. Heidegger. Then all shouted mirthfully, and leaped [lao,nhảy] about the room. The Widow Wycherly--if so fresh a damsel [thiếu nữ] could be called a widow--tripped up to the doctor's chair, with a mischievous [tinh nghịch] merriment in her rosy face.

"Doctor, you dear old soul," cried she, "get up and dance with me!" And then the four young people laughed louder than ever, to think what a queer figure the poor old doctor would cut.

"Pray excuse me," answered the doctor quietly. "I am old and rheumatic, and my dancing days were over long ago. But either of these gay young gentlemen will be glad of so pretty a partner."

"Dance with me, Clara!" cried Colonel Killigrew

"No, no, I will be her partner!" shouted Mr. Gascoigne.

"She promised me her hand, fifty years ago!" exclaimed Mr. Medbourne.

They all gathered round her. One caught both her hands in his passionate grasp another threw his arm about her waist--the third buried his hand among the glossy curls that clustered beneath the widow's cap. Blushing [xấu hổ], panting [thở hổn hển, khát khao], struggling, chiding [mắng mỏ], laughing, her warm breath fanning each of their faces by turns, she strove to disengage [tháo ra] herself, yet still remained in their triple embrace. Never was there a livelier [sống động hơn] picture of youthful rivalship, with bewitching [mê hồn] beauty for the prize. Yet, by a strange deception [trò lừa dối], owing to [bởi vì] the duskiness of the chamber, and the antique dresses which they still wore, the tall mirror is said to have reflected the figures of the three old, gray, withered grandsires [cụ già], ridiculously contending for [giành giật vì] the skinny ugliness of a shrivelled [nhăn, teo ] grandam.

But they were young: their burning passions proved them so. Inflamed [căm phẩn] to madness by the coquetry [tính đỏm] of the girl-widow, who neither granted [chấp nhận] nor quite withheld [từ chối] her favors, the three rivals began to interchange threatening glances. Still keeping hold of the fair prize, they grappled [túm lấy] fiercely [mạnh] at one another's throats. As they struggled to and fro [đi tiến lùi], the table was overturned, and the vase dashed into a thousand fragments. The precious Water of Youth flowed in a bright stream across the floor, moistening the wings of a butterfly, which, grown old in the decline of summer, had alighted there to die. The insect fluttered [vỗ cánh] lightly through the chamber, and settled on the snowy head of Dr. Heidegger.

"Come, come, gentlemen!--come, Madam Wycherly," exclaimed the doctor, "I really must protest against this riot."

They stood still and shivered; for it seemed as if gray Time were calling them back from their sunny youth, far down into the chill [lạnh lẽo] and darksome vale [từ biệt] of years. They looked at old Dr. Heidegger, who sat in his carved arm-chair, holding the rose of half a century, which he had rescued from among the fragments of the shattered vase. At the motion of his hand, the four rioters resumed their seats; the more readily, because their violent exertions [sự sử dụng] had wearied [mệt, chán] them, youthful though they were.

"My poor Sylvia's rose!" ejaculated [thốt ra] Dr. Heidegger, holding it in the light of the sunset clouds; "it appears to be fading again."

And so it was. Even while the party were looking at it, the flower continued to shrivel up, till it became as dry and fragile as when the doctor had first thrown it into the vase. He shook [shake] off the few drops of moisture which clung [bám, dính] to its petals.

"I love it as well thus as in its dewy [như sương] freshness," observed he, pressing the withered rose to his withered lips. While he spoke, the butterfly fluttered down from the doctor's snowy head, and fell upon the floor.

His guests shivered again. A strange chillness, whether of the body or spirit they could not tell, was creeping [đang bò, leo] gradually over them all. They gazed at one another, and fancied [mong ước] that each fleeting [phù du, thoáng qua] moment snatched away a charm [bùa mê], and left a deepening furrow [nếp nhăn] where none had been before. Was it an illusion? Had the changes of a lifetime been crowded into so brief a space, and were they now four aged people, sitting with their old friend, Dr. Heidegger?

"Are we grown old again, so soon?" cried they, dolefully [buồn thảm].

In truth they had. The Water of Youth possessed merely a virtue more transient [ngắn ngủi, nhất thời] than that of wine. The delirium [cơn mê] which it created had effervesced [sục sôi] away. Yes! they were old again. With a shuddering impulse [sự thúc đẩy], that showed her a woman still, the widow clasped [ôn chặt] her skinny hands before her face, and wished that the coffin [áo quan] lid were over it, since it could be no longer beautiful.

"Yes, friends, ye are old again," said Dr. Heidegger, "and lo! the Water of Youth is all lavished [lãng phí] on the ground. Well--I bemoan [than khóc, tiếc] it not; for if the fountain [suối nước] gushed [phun] at my very doorstep, I would not stoop [gập, cúi] to bathe my lips in it--no, though its delirium [cơn mê] were for years instead of moments. Such is the lesson ye have taught me!"

But the doctor's four friends had taught no such lesson to themselves. They resolved [quyết tâm] forthwith [tức thì] to make a pilgrimage [hành hương] to Florida, and quaff at morning, noon, and night, from the Fountain of Youth.