"Put my fiddle against the grog, and then all's square." "I have not sung for many a day," replied Nancy, musing, and looking up at the bright twinkling stars. "I once sang, when I was I young--and happy--I then sang all the day long; that was really singing, for it came from the merriness of my heart;" and Nancy paused. "Yes, I have sung since, and often, for they made me sing; but 'twas when my heart was heavy--or when its load had been, for a time, forgotten and drowned in wine. That was not singing, at least not the singing of bygone days." "But those times are bygone too, Mistress Nancy," said Moggy; "you have now your marriage lines, and are made an honest woman." "Yes, and God keep me so, amen," replied Nancy, mournfully. Had not the night concealed it, a tear might have been seen by the others in the boat to trickle down the check of Nancy Corbett, as she was reminded of her former life; and as she again fixed her eyes upon the brilliant heavens, each particular star appeared to twinkle brighter as if they rejoiced to witness tears like those. "You must be light o' heart now, Mistress Nancy," observed Jemmy, soothingly. "I am not unhappy," replied she, resting her cheek upon her hand. "Mistress Nancy," said Moggy, "I should think a little of that stuff would do neither of us any harm; the night is rather bleak." Moggy poured out a glass and handed it to Nancy; she drank it, and it saved her from a flood of tears, which otherwise she would have been unable to repress. In a minute or two, during which Moggy helped herself and the old boatman, Nancy's spirits returned. "Do you know this air?" said Nancy to Jemmy, humming it. "Yes, yes, I know it well, Mistress Nancy. Will you sing to it?" Nancy Corbett, who had been celebrated once for her sweet singing, as well as her beauty, immediately commenced in a soft and melodious tone, while Jemmy touched his fiddle. Lost, stolen, or stray'd, The heart of a young maid; Whoever the same shall find, And prove so very kind, To yield it on desire, They shall rewarded be, And that most handsomely, With kisses one, two, three. Cupid is the crier, Ring-a-ding, a-ding, Cupid is the crier. O yes! O yes! O yes! Here is a pretty mess! A maiden's heart is gone, And she is left forlorn, And panting with desire; Whoever shall bring it me, They shall rewarded be, With kisses one, two, three. Cupid is the crier, Ring-a-ding, a-ding, Cupid is the crier. 'Twas lost on Sunday eve, Or taken without leave, A virgin's heart so pure, She can't the loss endure, And surely will expire; Pity her misery. Rewarded you shall be With kisses one, two, three. Cupid is the crier, Ring-a-ding, a-ding, Cupid is the crier.