"I don't mean him," said Frank. "By-the-bye, he came to me the other day to condole with me, as he said, on the woes of my bleeding country. Before he left me he made me bleed, for he persuaded me to lend him a guinea. No, I don't mean him, nor any one of his stamp; I mean an Irish patriot, one who thinks he can show his love for his country in no better way than by beating the English." "Beating the English?" said I; "I should like to see him." Whereupon taking me by the arm, Francis Ardry conducted me through various alleys, till we came to a long street which seemed to descend towards the south. "What street is this?" said I, when we had nearly reached the bottom. "It is no street at all," said my friend; "at least it is not called one in this city of Cockaine; it is a lane, even that of St. Martin; and that church that you see there is devoted to him. It is one of the few fine churches in London. _Malheureusement_, {232} as the French say, it is so choked up by buildings that it is impossible to see it at twenty yards' distance from any side. Whenever I get into Parliament, one of my first motions shall be to remove some twenty score of the aforesaid buildings. But I think we have arrived at the house to which I wished to conduct you." "Yes, I see, _Portobello_." About twenty yards from the church, on the left-hand side of the street or lane, was a mean-looking house having something of the appearance of a fifth-rate inn. Over the door was written in large characters the name of the haven, where the bluff old Vernon achieved his celebrated victory over the whiskered Dons. Entering a passage on one side of which was a bar-room, Ardry enquired of a middle-aged man who stood in it in his shirt-sleeves, whether the captain was at home. Having received for an answer a surly kind of "yes," he motioned me to follow him, and after reaching the end of the passage, which was rather dark, he began to ascend a narrow, winding stair. About half-way up he suddenly stopped, for at that moment a loud, hoarse voice from a room above commenced singing a strange kind of ditty. "The captain is singing," said Frank, "and, as I live, 'Carolan's Receipt for drinking whisky'. Let us wait a moment till he has done, as he would probably not like to be interrupted in his melody." CAROLAN'S RECEIPT. 'Whether sick or sound my receipt was the same, To Stafford I stepp'd and better became; A visit to Stafford's bounteous hall Was the best receipt of all, of all. 'Midnight fell round us and drinking found us, At morn again flow'd his whisky; By his _in_sight he knew 'twas the only way true To keep Torlough alive and frisky. 'Now deep healths quaffing, now screeching now laughing, At my harp-strings tearing, and to madness nearing: That was the life I led, and which I yet do; For I will swear it, and to all the world declare it, If you would fain be happy, you must aye be--'