"That's prime, Jemmy. Now, my boys, all together," cried Obadiah Coble.

Chorus. Very good song, and very well sung,

Jolly companions every one;

We are all here for mirth and glee,

We are all here for jollity.

Very good song, and very well sung,

Jolly companions every one;

Put your hats on to keep your heads warm,
A little more grog will do us no harm.

"Hurrah! Now, Bill Spurey, suppose you tip us a stave. But I say, Babette, you Dutch-built galliot, tell old Frank Slush to send us another dose of the stuff; and, d'ye hear, a short pipe for me, and a paper o' baccy.”

The short, fat Babette, whose proportions all the exercise of waiting upon the customers could not reduce, knew quite enough English to require no further explanation.

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Come, Jemmy, my hearty, take your fingers off your fiddle, and hand in your pot," continued Coble ; and then, if they are not going to dance, we'll have another song. Bill Spurey, wet your whistle, and just clear the cobwebs out of your throat. Here's more 'baccy, Short."

Short made no reply, but he shook out the ashes, and filled his pipe. The music did not strike up again, so Bill Spurey sang as follows:

Says the parson one day, as I cursed a Jew,

Do you know, my lad, that we call it a sin?
I fear of you sailors there are but few,
St. Peter, to heaven, will ever let in.
Says I, Mr. Parson, to tell you my mind,
No sailors to knock were ever yet seen,

Those who travel by land may steer 'gainst wind,
But we shape a course for Fiddler's Green.
For Fiddler's Green, where seamen true,
When here they've done their duty,
The bowl of grog shall still renew

And pledge to love and beauty.

Says the parson, I hear you've married three wives,
Now do you not know that that is a sin?
You sailors, you lead such very bad lives,
St. Peter, to heaven, will ne'er let you in.
Parson, says I, in each port I've but one,

And never had more, wherever I've been ;
Below I'm obliged to be chaste as a nun,
But I'm promised a dozen at Fiddler's Green.
At Fiddler's Green, where seamen true,
When here they've done their duty,
The bowl of grog shall still renew,
And pledge to love and beauty.

Says the parson, says he, you're drunk, my man,
And do you not know that that is a sin?
If you sailors will ever be swigging your can,
To heaven you surely will never get in.
(Hiccup.) Parson, you may as well be mum,
"Tis only on shore I'm this way seen;
But oceans of punch, and rivers of rum,
Await the sailor at Fiddler's Green.

At Fiddler's Green, where seamen true,
When here they've done their duty,
The bowl of grog shall still renew,
And pledge to love and beauty.

"Well reeled off, Billy," cried Jemmy Ducks, finishing with a flourish on his fiddle, and a refrain of the air. "I don't think we shall meet him and his dog at Fiddler's Greenheh!"

"No," replied Short, taking his pipe from his lip.

"No, no, Jemmy, a seaman true means one true in heart as well as in knowledge; but, like a blind fiddler, he'll be led by his dog somewhere else."

"From vere de dog did come from," observed Jansen.

The band now struck up again, and played a waltz-a dance new to our country, but older than the Heptarchy. Jansen, with his pipe in his mouth, took one of the women by the waist, and steered round the room about as leisurely as a capstan heaving up. Dick Short also took another, made four turns, reeled up against a Dutchman who was doing it with sang froid, and then suddenly left his partner, and dropped into his chair.

"I say, Jemmy," said Obadiah Coble, "why don't you give a girl a twist round?”

"Because I can't, Oby; my compasses arn't long enough to describe a circle. You and I are better here, old boy. I, because I've very, little legs, and you, because you havn't a leg

to stand upon."

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Very true-not quite so young as I was forty years ago. Howsomever I mean this to be my last vessel. I shall bear up for one of the London dockyards as a rigger."

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'Yes, that'll do; only keep clear of the girt-lines, you're too stiff for that."

"No, that would not exactly tell; I shall pick my own work, and that's where I can bring my tarry trousers to an anchor-mousing the mainstay, or puddening the anchor, with the best of any. Dick, lend us a bit of 'baccy."

Short pulled out his box without saying a word. Coble took a quid, and Short thrust the box again into his pocket.

In the meantime the waltz continued, and being a favourite dance, there were about fifty couple going round and round the room. Such was the variety in the dress, country, lan

guage, and appearance of the parties collected, that you might have imagined it a masquerade. It was, however, getting late, and Frau Vandersloosh had received the intimation of the people of the police who superintend these resorts, that it was the time for shutting up; so that, although the widow was sorry on her own account to disperse so merry and so thirsty a party as they were now becoming, so soon as the waltz was ended the musicians packed up their instruments and departed. This was a signal for many, but by no means for all, to depart; for music being over, and the house doors closed, a few who remained, provided they made no disturbance, were not interfered with by the police. Among those who stayed were the party from the Yungfrau, one or two American, and some Prussian sailors. Having closed up together,

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Come," cried Jemmy, "now that we are quiet again, let's have another song; and who is it to be-Dick Short?"

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Short, my boy, come, you must sing."

'No," replied Short.

"Yes, yes-one verse," said Spurey.

"He never sings more," replied Jemmy Ducks, "

must give us that. Come, Short."

so he

"Yes," replied Short, taking the pipe out of his mouth, and wetting his lips with the grog.

"Now then, Jemmy Ducks, it's round to you again.

up;

fiddle and all."

"Well, here goes," said Jemmy Ducks.

Strike

The captain stood on the carronade-first lieutenant, says he,
Send all my merry men aft here, for they must list to me:

I havn't the gift of the gab, my sons-because I'm bred to the sea;
That ship there is a Frenchman, who means to fight with we.
Odds blood, hammer and tongs, long as I've been to sea,
I've fought 'gainst every odds—but I've gain'd the victory.

That ship there is a Frenchman, and if we don't take she,
'Tis a thousand bullets to one, that she will capture we;
I havn't the gift of the gab, my boys; so each man to his gun;
If she's not mine in half an hour, I'll flog each mother's son.
Odds bobs, hammer and tongs, long as I've been to sea,
I've fought 'gainst every odds—and I've gain'd the victory.

We fought for twenty minutes, when the Frenchman had enough;
I little thought, said he, that your men were of such stuff;
The captain took the Frenchman's sword, a low bow made to he;
I havn't the gift of the gab, monsieur, but polite I wish to be.
Odds bobs, hammer and tongs, long as I've been to sea,
I've fought 'gainst every odds-and I've gain'd the victory.

Our captain sent for all of us; my merry men, said he,

I havn't the gift of the gab, my lads, but yet I thankful be:
You've done your duty handsomely, each man stood to his gun;

If you hadn't, you villains, as sure as day, I'd bave flogg'd each mother's

son.

Odds bobs, hammer and tongs, as long as I'm at sea,

I'll fight 'gainst every odds-and I'll gain the victory.

Chorus. Very good song, and very well sung,
Jolly companions every one;

We all are here for mirth and glee,

We all are here for jollity.

Very good song, and very well sung,

Jolly companions every one;

Put your hats on to keep your heads warm,

A little more grog will do us no harm.

Now, Coble, we must have yours," said Jemmy Ducks. "Mine! well, if you please; but half my notes are stranded. You'll think that Snarleyyow is baying the moon. ever, take it as it is."

Howsom

Oh, what's the use of piping, boys, I never yet could larn,
The good of water from the eyes I never could disarn;
Salt water we have sure enough without our pumping more;
So let us leave all crying to the girls we leave on shore.

They may pump,
As in we jump

To the boat, and say,

But as for men,

Why, I say again,

"Good bye;"

That crying's all my eye.

I went to school when quite a boy, and never larnt to read,
The master tried both head and tail-at last it was agreed
No larning he could force in me, so they sent me off to sea;
My mother wept and wrung her hands, and cried most bitterly.
So she did pump,

As I did jump

In the boat, and said, "Good bye;"
But as for me,

Who was sent to sea,

To cry was all my eye.

I courted Poll, a buxom lass; when I return'd A B,

I bought her ear-rings, hat, and shawl, a sixpence did break we;
At last 'twas time to be on board, so, Poll, says I, farewell;
She roar'd and said, that leaving her was like a funeral knell.
So she did pump,

As I did jump

In the boat, and said, "Good bye;"

But as for me,

With the rate A B,

To cry was all my eye.

I soon went back, I shoved on shore, and Polly I did meet,
For she was watching on the shore, her sweetheart for to greet;
She threw her arms around me then, and much to my surprise,
She vow'd she was so happy that she pump'd with both her eyes.
So she did pump,
As I did jump
To kiss her lovingly;
But, I say again,

That as for men,

Crying is all my eye,

Then push the can around, my boys, and let us merry be;
We'll rig the pumps if a leak we spring, and work most merrily :
Salt water we have sure enough, we'll add not to its store,
But drink, and laugh, and sing, and chat, and call again for more.
The girls may pump,

As in we jump

To the boat, and say, "Good bye;"

But as for we,

Who sailors be,

Crying is all my eye.

"Bravo, Obadiah! now one more song, and then we'll aboard. It won't do to bowse your jib up too tight here," said Jemmy; for it's rather dangerous navigation among all these canals-no room for yawing."

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No," replied Dick Short.

Then," said Jemmy, jumping off the table with his fiddle in his hand. “let's have the roarer by way of a finish—what d'ye say, my hearties?"

Up they all rose, and gathered together in the centre of the room, save Jemmy Ducks, who, flourishing with his fiddle, commenced,