"That he is," replied Moggy; "and he sings like a darling duck. Don't you, Jemmy, my dear?"

"Quack, quack," replied Jemmy.

"Well, Mr Salisbury, there's no boat that I can see near us, or even in sight; and if there was it were little matter. I suppose you will let me hear you, for I shall have little opportunity after this?"

"With all my heart," replied Jemmy; who, taking up his fiddle, and playing upon the strings like a guitar, after a little reflection, sang as follows:--

Bless my eyes, how young Bill threw his shiners away, As he drank and he danced, when he first came on shore!

It was clear that he fancied that with his year's pay, Like the Bank of Old England, he'd never he poor.

So when the next day, with a southerly wind in His pockets, he came up, my rhino to borrow "You're welcome," says I, "Bill," as I fork'd out the tin, "But when larking to-day--don't _forget there's to-morrow_."

When our frigate came to from a cruise in the west, And her yards were all squared, her sails neatly furl'd Young Tom clasped his Nancy, so loved, to his breast, As if but themselves there was none in the world.

Between two of the guns they were fondly at play, All billing and kissing, forgetting all sorrow "Love, like cash," says I, "Nan, may all go in a day, While you hug him so close--don't _forget there's to-morrow_."

When a hurricane swept us smack smooth fore and aft, When we dash'd on the rock, and we flounder'd on shore, As we sighed for the loss of our beautiful craft, Convinced that the like we should never see more, Says I, "My good fellows," as huddled together, They shiver'd and shook, each phiz black with sorrow, "Remember, it's not to be always foul weather, So with ill-luck to-day--don't forget _there's to-morrow_."

"And not a bad hint, neither, Mr Salisbury," said Nancy, when Jemmy ceased. "You sailors never think of to-morrow, more's the pity. You're no better than overgrown babies."

"I'm not much better, at all events," replied Jemmy, laughing: "however, I'm as God made me, and so all's right."

"That's my own darling Jemmy," said Moggy; "and if you're content, and I'm content, who is to say a word, I should like to know? You may be a rum one to look at, but I think them fellows found you but a rum customer the other night."

"Don't put so much rum in your discourse, Moggy, you make me long for a glass of grog."

"Then your mouth will find the water," rejoined Nancy; "but, however, singing is dry work, and I am provided. Pass my basket aft, old gentleman, and we will find Mr Salisbury something with which to whet his whistle." The boatman handed the basket to Nancy who pulled out a bottle and glass, which she filled, and handed to Jemmy.

"Now, Mr Salisbury, I expect some more songs," said Nancy.

"And you shall have them, mistress; but I've heard say that you've a good pipe of your own; suppose that you give me one in return, that will be but fair play."

"Not exactly, for you'll have the grog in the bargain," replied Nancy.

"Put my fiddle against the grog, and then all's square."

"I have not sung for many a day," replied Nancy, musing, and looking up at the bright twinkling stars. "I once sang, when I was I young--and happy--I then sang all the day long; that was really singing, for it came from the merriness of my heart;" and Nancy paused. "Yes, I have sung since, and often, for they made me sing; but 'twas when my heart was heavy--or when its load had been, for a time, forgotten and drowned in wine. That was not singing, at least not the singing of bygone days."

"But those times are bygone too, Mistress Nancy," said Moggy; "you have now your marriage lines, and are made an honest woman."

"Yes, and God keep me so, amen," replied Nancy, mournfully.

Had not the night concealed it, a tear might have been seen by the others in the boat to trickle down the check of Nancy Corbett, as she was reminded of her former life; and as she again fixed her eyes upon the brilliant heavens, each particular star appeared to twinkle brighter as if they rejoiced to witness tears like those.

"You must be light o' heart now, Mistress Nancy," observed Jemmy, soothingly.

"I am not unhappy," replied she, resting her cheek upon her hand.

"Mistress Nancy," said Moggy, "I should think a little of that stuff would do neither of us any harm; the night is rather bleak."

Moggy poured out a glass and handed it to Nancy; she drank it, and it saved her from a flood of tears, which otherwise she would have been unable to repress. In a minute or two, during which Moggy helped herself and the old boatman, Nancy's spirits returned.

"Do you know this air?" said Nancy to Jemmy, humming it.

"Yes, yes, I know it well, Mistress Nancy. Will you sing to it?"

Nancy Corbett, who had been celebrated once for her sweet singing, as well as her beauty, immediately commenced in a soft and melodious tone, while Jemmy touched his fiddle.

Lost, stolen, or stray'd, The heart of a young maid; Whoever the same shall find, And prove so very kind, To yield it on desire, They shall rewarded be, And that most handsomely, With kisses one, two, three.

Cupid is the crier, Ring-a-ding, a-ding, Cupid is the crier.

O yes! O yes! O yes!

Here is a pretty mess!

A maiden's heart is gone, And she is left forlorn, And panting with desire; Whoever shall bring it me, They shall rewarded be, With kisses one, two, three.

Cupid is the crier, Ring-a-ding, a-ding, Cupid is the crier.

'Twas lost on Sunday eve, Or taken without leave, A virgin's heart so pure, She can't the loss endure, And surely will expire; Pity her misery.

Rewarded you shall be With kisses one, two, three.

Cupid is the crier, Ring-a-ding, a-ding, Cupid is the crier.

The maiden sought around, It was not to be found, She search'd each nook and dell, The haunts she loved so well, All anxious with desire; The wind blew ope his vest, When, lo! the toy in quest, She found within the breast Of Cupid, the false crier, Ring-a-ding, a-ding-a-ding, Cupid the false crier.

"Many thanks, Mistress Corbett, for a good song, sung in good tune, with a sweet voice," said Jemmy. "I owe you one for that, and am ready to pay you on demand. You've a pipe like a missel thrush."

"Well, I do believe that I shall begin to sing again," replied Nancy.

"I'm sure if Corbett was only once settled on shore in a nice little cottage, with a garden, and a blackbird in a wicker cage, I should try who could sing most, the bird or me."

"He will be by-and-by, when his work is done."

"Yes, when it is; but open boats, stormy seas, and the halter, are heavy odds, Mr Salisbury."

"Don't mention the halter, Mistress Nancy, you'll make me melancholy,"

replied Jemmy, "and I sha'n't be able to sing any more. Well, if they want to hang me, they need not rig the yard-arm, three handspikes as sheers, and I shouldn't find soundings, heh! Moggy?"

Nancy laughed at the ludicrous idea: but Moggy exclaimed with vehemence, "Hang my Jemmy! my darling duck! I should like to see them."

"At all events, we'll have another song from him, Moggy, before they spoil his windpipe, which, I must say, would be a great pity; but, Moggy, there have been better men hung than your husband."

"Better men than my Jemmy, Mrs Corbett! There never was one like him afore or since," replied Moggy with indignation.

"I only meant of longer pedigree, Moggy," replied Nancy, soothingly.

"I don't know what that is," replied Moggy, still angry.

"Longer legs, to be sure," replied Jemmy. "Never mind that, Moggy.

Here goes, song in two parts. It's a pity, Mistress Nancy, that you couldn't take one."

"When will you give up this life of wild roving?

When shall we be quiet and happy on shore!

When will you to church lead your Susan, so loving, And sail on the treacherous billows no more?"