fool for a client,’ said the judge, beside himself with rage. At this point the mirth of the spectators could no longer be controlled, but burst forth in roars of laughter which effectually silenced my further explanations. At length the mistake was made clear to the bench, and I was suffered to be taken down. I tried to brave it out, by delivering my speech afterwards, but an unlucky mention of the word ‘mistake’ set the bar in a roar, and so completely confounded me that I talked nonsense at random, until I broke down as I told you, and, since then, I never think of a law-point without a cold sweat all over.” “By the staff of St. Patrick! and you’re right,” said O’Shaughnessy. “Here’s confusion to lawyers, and a bumper for the girls!” “The girls—hurrah!” sang the mess in one voice. “No heel-taps!” and it was drank enthusiastically. “Ah! and Parker has a song on the sweet angels,” said Westbrook; “we’ll all join in the chorus.” “The song—the song!” roared the mess. Thus pressed, I had no escape, and taking a pull at the beaker to clear my throat, I sang the following stanzas: THE GIRLS WE LOVE. Air—_Nancy Dawson_. Our country’s girls have azure eyes, And tresses like the sunset skies, And hearts to seek, nor need disguise— As pure as heav’n above, sir; With voices like a seraph’s light, And forms that swim before the sight, And waists to tempt an anchorite— They are the girls to love, sir. Though France may boast her dark brunette, And Spain her eyes of flashing jet, And Greece her tones you ne’er forget— So like the song of dove, sir— Columbia’s maids have tones as sweet, And cheeks where snow and roses meet: Such lips, and then, egad! such feet! They are the girls to love, sir. Oh! we are reefers bold and gay; We brave the storm and court the fray, Yet ne’er forget the girls away, However far we rove, sir. I sometimes fancy they’re decoys To lure us on to fancied joys; They’ll be our ruin yet, my boys!— Here’s to the girls we love, sir. The deafening chorus of the last three lines of this song, repeated by the whole mess in full voice, had scarcely died away, when the quarter-master knocked at the door, and told us that we had given chase to a strange sail, and that there would soon be hot work on deck. Before he had well finished the room was empty, and we had all sprung up the gangway.