In eigh-teen hun-dred and six-ty three, I came across the stormy sea. My dung'ree breech-es I put on _Chorus._ To work up-on the rail-way, the rail-way, To work up-on the rail-way. Oh, poor Pad-dy, come work on the rail-way. ][Music] Many other songs might be named, some of which, peculiar to the Liverpool packets, are of a rowdy nature. One cannot but regret that a more rational set of words has not been introduced to this service of song. A sphere offers for some philanthropic poet to provide a more elevating style of composition. On the old theory, the ballad-maker may accomplish more reform than the law-giver. In addition to these songs are the unnameable and unearthly howls and yells that characterize the true sailor, which are only acquired by years of sea service. There is the continuous running solo of "way-hey he, ho, ya," &c., &c., accompanying the hand-over-hand hoisting of jibs and staysails. Then for short "swigs" at the halyards, we have such utterances as "hey _lee_, ho _lip_, or _yu_," the emphasis and pull coming on the italicized syllables on which the voice is raised a tone. Then comes the more measured "singing out," for the long and regular pulls at the "braces." Each sailor has his own "howl" peculiar to himself, but fortunately only one performs at a time on the same rope. The effect, however, when all hands are on deck at a time, and a dozen ropes are pulled on at once, is most suggestive of Babel. One learns to recognize the sailors' method of singing: when lying in his berth in the cabin he can tell what man is leading and by the measure of his cadence can judge what class of ropes is being pulled. He thus can often divine the changes of wind and weather without going on deck. The wakeful captain with nerves harassed by contrary winds will recognize the hauling in of the weather braces by the cry, and with only this evidence of a fair wind will drop off into the slumber he so greatly needs. At other times he will be impelled to go on deck by the evidence that the outcries betoken the hauling of clew-lines and bunt-lines at the approach of a threatening squall. By attention to these and other sounds, and the motions of the vessel, an experienced mariner knows the condition of affairs above deck without personal inspection. The songs of the sea, as I have said, invite attention and research, and I shall be glad if this brief sketch may incite another to more thorough investigation.