departure from his
home and country.

Mr. Free was, at the time I mention, gathered up like a ball opposite a
small, low window that looked upon the bluff headlands now fast becoming
dim and misty as the night approached. He was apparently in low spirits,
and hummed in a species of low, droning voice, the following ballad, at the
end of each verse of which came an Irish chorus which, to the erudite in
such matters, will suggest the air of Moddirederoo:--

MICKEY FREE'S LAMENT.

Then fare ye well, ould Erin dear;
To part, my heart does ache well:
From Carrickfergus to Cape Clear,
I'll never see your equal.
And though to foreign parts we're bound,
Where cannibals may ate us,
We'll ne'er forget the holy ground
Of potteen and potatoes.
Moddirederoo aroo, aroo, etc.

When good Saint Patrick banished frogs,
And shook them from his garment,
He never thought we'd go abroad,
To live upon such varmint;
Nor quit the land where whiskey grew
To wear King George's button,
Take vinegar for mountain dew,
And toads for mountain mutton.
Moddirederoo aroo, aroo, etc.

"I say, Mike, stop that confounded keen, and tell me where are we?"

"Off the ould head of Kinsale, sir."

"Where is Captain Power?"

"Smoking a cigar on deck, with the captain, sir."

"And Mr. Sparks?"

"Mighty sick in his own state-room. Oh, but it's himself has enough of
glory--bad luck to it!--by this time. He'd make your heart break to look at
him."

"Who have you got on board besides?"

"The adjutant's here, sir; and an old gentleman they call the major."

"Not Major Dalrymple?" said I, starting up with terror at the thought, "eh,
Mike?"

"No, sir, another major; his name is Mulroon, or Mundoon, or something like
that."

"Monsoon, you son of a lumper potato," cried out a surly, gruff voice from
a berth opposite. "Monsoon. Who's at the other side?"

"Mr. O'Malley, 14th," said I, by way of introduction.

"My service to you, then," said the voice. "Going to join your regiment?"

"Yes; and you, are you bound on a similar errand?"

"No, Heaven be praised! I'm attached to the commissariat, and only going to
Lisbon. Have you had any dinner?"

"Not a morsel; have you?"

"No more than yourself; but I always lie by for three or four days this
way, till I get used to the confounded rocking and pitching, and with
a little grog and som