about displaying their stores, and invited every one to purchase fruit, and particularly hard-boiled eggs, which they had brought in at this hour, when those who dined at one might be expected to be hungry.  Sailors’ wives were also there, and perhaps some who could not produce the marriage certificates; but as these were not asked for at the door, it was of no consequence.  About the centre of the room, at two small tables joined together, were to be seen the party from the Yungfrau:  some were drinking beer, some grog, and Jemmy Ducks was perched on the table, with his fiddle as usual held like a bass viol.  He was known by those who frequented the house by the name of the Manikin, and was a universal object of admiration and good-will.  The quadrille was ended, and the music stopped playing.

“Come now,” said Coble, tossing off his glass, “spell oh!—­let’s have a song while they take their breath.  Jemmy, strike up.”

“Hurrah for a song!” cries Jemmy.  “Here goes.”

Jemmy then tuned one string of his fiddle, which was a little out, and accompanying his voice, sang as follows:  all those who were present immediately keeping silence, for they were used to Jemmy’s melody.

Twas on the twenty-fourth of June, I sailed away to sea,
I turned my pockets in the lap of Susan on my knee;
Says I, my dear, ’tis all I have, I wish that it was more,
It can’t be helped, says Susan then, you know we’ve spent galore.

You know we’ve spent galore, my Bill,
And merry have been we,
Again you must your pockets fill,
For Susan on your knee.

“Chorus, my boys—­”

For Susan on my knee, my boys,
With Susan on my knee.

The gale came on in thunder, lads, in lightning, and in foam,
Before that we had sail’d away three hundred miles from home;
And on the Sunday morning, lads, the coast was on our lee,
Oh, then I thought of Portsmouth, and of Susan on my knee.

For howling winds and waves to boot,
With black rocks on the lee,
Did not so well my fancy suit,
As Susan on my knee.

Chorus.—­With Susan on my knee, my boys,
With Susan on my knee.

Next morning we were cast away upon the Frenchman’s shore,
We saved our lives, but not our all, for we could save no more;
They marched us to a prison, so we lost our liberty,
I peeped between the bars, and sighed for Susan on my knee.

For bread so black, and wine so sour,
And a son a-day to me,
Made me long ten times an hour,
For Susan on my knee.

Chorus—­For Susan on my knee, my boys,
For Susan on my knee.

One night we smashed our jailer’s skull and off our boat did steer,
And in the offing were picked up by a jolly privateer;
We sailed in her the cruise, my boys, and prizes did take we,
I’ll be at Portsmouth soon, thinks I, with Susan on my knee.