these words in a mincing little tune, that might have been set to music for a child's penny trumpet.

"Chorus!

As life, we know, is but a jest,

Yet punning always life will give;
As punning is of jests the best,

So who puns best, the best must live.
For punning sits upon a throne-
At least he oft enthroned sits-
And if with tyrants seldom known,
Yet rules he with the king of wits.

Then pun away,
Pun, pun all day,

At night with puns be busy ;
Pun, pun all round,

Mix sense with sound,

Till sense itself grow dizzy.

I freely state, in this free state,
Punning has state and honour much,
And that both Houses gaping wait,
To rouse them at his magic touch,
The bar is found no bar to it;

And counsel seek it like a fee;
It on the Bench will try to sit,
And grin with wiggy gravity.
Then pun away,

Pun, pun all day,

At night with puns be busy;
Pun, pun all round,

Mix sense with sound,

Till sense itself grow dizzy.

When in our graves at length we lie,
We there engrave a lie above,
And on our very tombstones try

A pun-or worse-for hate put love.
Thus all through life we lose the sense
In seeking sound. When all is done,
Without a pun, I judge from hence,
Life's either punishment or pun.
Then pun away,
Pun, pun all day,

Poor Peter, at the

At night with puns be busy;

Pun, pun all round,

Mix sense with sound,

Till sense itself grow dizzy."

conclusion of his song, looked around for applause that was not; and the threadbare Mr. Rickets shook his long head very ominously. It was Greek to the natives, and something as incomprehensible to the tars.

66

Yaw, aw, gaw," said the chawbacons, which was a comment upon it quite as good as the text.

"It is too gumptious for us," said the seamen.

So Peter Drivel turned up the snub end of his nose, and pro nounced the whole set vulgar: thereupon issue was joined with the schoolmaster, and much excellent, but unrecorded argument ensued. Then were sung "The Bay of Biscay," "Lovely Nan," and " Far,

far at Sea," the words of which, as they are generally known, and each may be bought for the fraction of a farthing, we will generously omit. Hitherto, those of the frigate had borne all the expense, both of the singing and the drink. At length the coxswain cried, Spell ho!"

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Spell ho!" said all the seamen.

"Will none of you shore-going chaps tail on to the song halliards, and aloft with it? Not a song from any of you ?"

Here there was much awing and guffawing from the countrymen; and, at last, a most suspicious-looking fellow, with long shanks, covered with leathern gaiters of the stoutest, said as how he would try to oblige the gentlemen.

When asked, "What ship ?"—that is, "Who are you ?"-he candidly confessed that he was called Poaching Philip, but he was not a poacher-not he-only a nocturnal sportsman; indeed, he was altogether a sporting character, and, as such, he would sing them a sporting song; and he begged the gentlemen of the sea would chorus the gentlemen of the shore as heartily as they themselves had been chorussed. This was promised; and off he started with the following bold hunting song:

"Sir Rory's across his Blue Ruin,

Sir Hickory Grub's in the saddle,
The huntsmen are up from the New Inn,
Then why do we stand fiddle-faddle?
Pr'ythee cast off the hounds in a twinkling,
The scent is as strong as a dandy's;
This morning, my lads, I've an inkling,

Some will find of what nature the land is.

"Now, my lads, all for the chorus. Hand us your whip, master carter," and smacking the whip, he sang out,—

Ride away, ride away,

Over hill, over dale,

Hedge or ditch be no stay,

And the man that shall quail

Or crane at a fence,

Let him take himself hence,

He shall not ride with us to-day, to-day,
He shall not ride with us to-day !

The Reverend George Dumper is down, sirs,
Him, his curate rides carefully over;

The squire's racer has just touched his crown, sirs,
No harm a thick skull's a good cover!

Three fops from St. James's lie sprawling ;
Lord Whiffling is crying, 'O lor!' sirs.
'O stop me!' a cockney is bawling,
And the doctor is hunting his horse, sirs.
Ride away, ride away,

Over hill, over dale,

Hedge or ditch be no stay,

And the man that shall quail

Or crane at a fence,

Let him take himself hence,

He shall not ride with us to-day, to-day,
He shall not ride with us to-day!

The game ones push on like the lightning,
They measure no distance by miles, sirs,
The reins not a soul is seen tight'ning,

And Reynard is at his last wiles, sirs.
We are in at the death like true heroes,
And O, 'twas a glorious run, sirs!

We've ended, in style, what th' ' O dear O's!'
And milksops had only begun, sirs.
Ride away, ride away,

Over hill, over dale,

Hedge or ditch be no stay,

And the man that shall quail

Or crane at a fence,

Let him take himself hence,

He shall not ride with us to-day, to-day,
He shall not ride with us to-day!"

The poacher succeeded much better than Peter. All present declared it to be a good song, and, as they had all joined in singing it, that it was well sung. Now, the dirty little schoolmaster had, during the last exhibition, made himself very conspicuous by beating time with his stick. He was, on that account, presumed to have an ear for music, and a song was demanded. The demand was rejected; it was then enforced by the alternative of drinking salt-water. At this very charitable suggestion, three shock-headed youths, with the ostler's watering-pail, made off, with "an obedient start for the beach," in order to borrow of the English Channel a sufficiency of fluid. Mr. Pedagogue Rickets, seeing things beginning to look rather desperate, shook his tattered and sable habiliments, threw an additional quantity of pomp and gravity into his countenance, took off his well-worn and browned hat, that age had made pliable, and squeezing it into a three-cornered shape, clapped it under his arm, and in a strong, but rather melodious voice, sang very slowly:

"Here am I, ass in præsenti,

Great Doctor Birch !
Master of scholars nine-and-twenty,
Oh! Doctor Birch !

Learn-ed-yes-and very grave I
Am, yet when, in mirth, a stave
Sing, 'tis amas, amat, amavi!

Great Doctor Birch!

You see this hat-three-corner'd-loop-ed
Of Doctor Birch,

Was once oft doff'd in court of Cupid
By Doctor Birch.

Then, pretty girls, I did adore 'em,
Genitive horum, harum, horum ;

But now I'm a pattern of decorum,
Meek Doctor Birch !"

This short song was honoured by the well-judging company with an encore: indeed, they found it very relishing and acceptable, as they were quite sure they did not understand it.

There was no occasion for the salt-water. The scene was becoming glorious, and the room had, by this time, become crowded to suffocation; still the mirth and the singing proceeded.

I might record many more songs, all excellent in their way, and which, probably I, the ancient mariner, alone know; for who, of all those jovial fellows that were so happy on this June afternoon at the Plough, now exist? —is there one? probably not. The Plough!-Alas! the plough of one generation passes over the grave of another; the crop of death never fails. But I am getting prosy again, whilst my merry men are all singing and shouting. I will record but one more of their songs-the loudest and the last.

There was still an hour of daylight left, when the report of a gun from the frigate rebounded along the peaceful shores. None just then were thinking about their wave-borne home. There was the signal flying at the peak for the barge's return; and, in the offing, six noble line-of-battle ships sailing majestically in a line, with a Commodore's broad pennant flying at the main of the largest. The breeze had sprung up, the frigate had shown her number, and signal was made for her to weigh and join immediately.

an

One of the swiftest-footed lads who had shared the seam generosity at the Plough, was despatched to Jaspar Hall to acquaint Captain Oliphant with the news. It was well that this prudent step had been taken, for he was just then in that happy state of oblivion to all maritime affairs, that he had utterly forgotten that such a thing as an eight-and-thirty existed.

During this time, all the Belladonnas filled their glasses, stood up, and respectfully drank the health of their Captain; and then concluded their festivities by singing their ship's song, which must be regarded merely as a common Jack's song, and was, I am inclined to think, the production of punning Peter.

"She is a frigate tight and gay,
As ever dash'd aside the spray,
Or conquer d in a well-fought fray-

The saucy Belladonna.

There's not a shipmate in the craft,
Who has not at all danger laught,
We're tried and true, both fore and aft,
On board the Belladonna.

Our skipper he's true heart of oak,
Is brave and kind, and loves his joke,
And bread no braver man e'er broke
On board the Belladonna.

Our first leeftenant's a jolly dog,
Though now and then he'll stop our grog,
But that's all right-for we never flog
On board the Belladonna.

Agin' the second, third, and fourth,
We nothing says-they're men of worth;
We wish 'em all soon a better berth
On board the Belladonna.

Our master, with his deep sea-lead,
His compass, and his chart outspread,

Blessings be on his old grey head

From the lads of the Belladonna.

With his dips, and his backy, and cheeses Dutch
Our jolly purser dont cheat us much;

Of course, we expects a little touch

On board the Belladonna.

Then there's our waggish midshipmites,
Who knocks up rows and douses lights.
Eyes! how they loves, and drinks, and fights
On board the Belladonna.

And there's our boatswain, red-faced Pipes,
Good in the main, though fond of swipes,
And sometimes gives us precious wipes
On board the Belladonna.

Our gunner's good, and so's old Plug;
May they ne'er want shot or a foaming jug,
And of wear and tear stand well the tug
On board the Belladonna.

Look at the manly, fine-hearted crew,
In dangers, storms, in battle true,
England's pride in her jackets blue,
On board the Belladonna."

The last verse was boisterously chanted out, when word was brought that the Captain was walking with Miss Belmont towards the barge, which had been left with two boat-keepers, who had been relieved every half-hour.

There was a hurrah, and a rush for the beach

Not a man of