of throwing off this tumbler;" and, to suit the action to the word,
he drained off another bumper of whisky-punch.

"Jack," says Harry, "now that we are in such prime humour, will
you give us a song?"

"With all the veins of my heart," says Jack. "What will it be?"

"Anything you please; your will must be my pleasure," answered
Harry.

Jack, after coughing and clearing his pipes, chanted forth, in a bold
and musical voice, a rude rigmarole called "The Royal Blackbird,"
which, although of no intrinsic merit, yet, as it expressed sentiments
hostile to British connection and British government and favourable
to the house of Stewart, was very popular amongst the Catholic
peasantry of Ireland, whilst, on the contrary, it was looked upon
by the Protestants as highly offensive and disloyal. Harry, however,
wished his companion too well to oppose the song, and he quietly
awaited its conclusion.

"Bravo, Jack," said Harry, as soon as the song was ended; "that
you may never lose your wind."

"In the king's name now I board you for another song," says Jack.

Harry, without hesitation, recognised his friend's right to demand
a return, and he instantly trolled forth, in a deep, sweet, and
sonorous voice, the following: