“‘If the officers do their duty, Major O’Shaughnessy, these acts of insubordination do not occur.’ “‘Cock-a-doo-do-doo,’ was the reply. Some of the staff found it hard not to laugh; but the general went on,-- “‘If, therefore, the practice does not cease, I’ll draft the men into West India regiments.’ “‘Cock-a-doo-do-doo.’ “‘And if any articles pillaged from the inhabitants are detected in the quarters, or about the person of the troops--’ “‘Cock-a-doo-do-_doo_,’ screamed louder here than ever. “‘Damn that cock! Where is it?’ “There was a general look around on all sides, which seemed in vain; when a tremendous repetition of the cry resounded from O’Shaughnessy’s coat pocket,--thus detecting the valiant major himself in the very practice of his corps. There was no standing this: every one burst out into a peal of laughing; and Lord Wellington himself could not resist, but turned away, muttering to himself as he went, ‘Damned robbers--every man of them!’ while a final war-note from the major’s pocket closed the interview.” “Confound you, Maurice, you’ve always some villanous narrative or other. You never crossed a street for shelter without making something out of it.” “True this time, as sure as my name’s Maurice; but the bowl is empty.” “Never mind, here comes its successor. How long can you stay among us?” “A few days at most. Just took a run off to see the sights. I was all over Lisbon this morning; saw the Inquisition and the cells and the place where they tried the fellows,--the kind of grand jury room with the great picture of Adam and Eve at the end of it. What a beautiful creature she is; hair down to her waist, and such eyes! ‘Ah, ye darling!’ said I to myself, ‘small blame to him for what he did. Wouldn’t I ate every crab in the garden, if ye asked me!’” “I must certainly go to see her, Maurice. Is she very Portuguese in her style?” “Devil a bit of it! She might be a Limerick-woman with elegant brown hair and blue eyes and a skin like snow.” “Come, come, they’ve pretty girls in Lisbon too, Doctor.” “Yes, faith,” said Power, “that they have.” “Nothing like Ireland, boys; not a bit of it; they’re the girls for my money; and where’s the man can resist them? From Saint Patrick, that had to go and live in the Wicklow mountains--” “Saint Kevin, you mean, Doctor.” “Sure it’s all the same, they were twins. I made a little song about them one evening last week,--the women I mean.” “Let us have it, Maurice; let us have it, old fellow. What’s the measure?” “Short measure; four little verses, devil a more!” “But the time, I mean?” “Whenever you like to sing it; here it is,”-- THE GIRLS OF THE WEST. Air,--“_Teddy, ye Gander_.” (_With feeling: but not too slow_.) You may talk, if you please, Of the brown Portuguese, But wherever you roam, wherever you roam, You nothing will meet, Half so lovely or sweet, As the girls at home, the girls at home.