poets burst into songs,--generally, it must be admitted, very bad,--in which they celebrated the naval victories of the day. They indulged in mythological flights of the highest kind, in which Neptune bestowed a laurel crown upon Hull, Amphitrite smiled upon Bainbridge and Decatur, and the Tritons and the Nereids joined in a chorus of love and admiration for the American sailor. America, Commerce, and Freedom appeared as conjoined goddesses, and everybody was summoned to fill the bumper and pledge the flowing bowl, to thank the mighty Jove and invoke Bacchus, and do all sorts of things entirely unfamiliar to a people whose principal intoxicating beverages were Medford rum and Monongahela whiskey, and who had not the slightest acquaintance with heathen gods and goddesses. It is needless to say that none of these songs were written by sailors, or were ever sung by them, even if they could have been sung by anybody. There was, however, better stuff than this in the naval songs of the war of 1812. The American sailor himself sometimes cleared his cheek of its quid, and sang in a clear if somewhat nasal voice some of the deeds which he had seen and done. Thus there is a great deal of rude vigor in one of the verses of a song describing the fight between the Constitution and the Guerriere, the first of our naval victories, and a very favorite theme:-- But Jonathan kept cool, At the roaring of the Bull. His heart filled with anything but fears; And squirting out his quid, As he saw the captain did, He cleaned out his mouth for three cheers. Another song on the same engagement, entitled Halifax Station, begins thus:-- From Halifax Station a bully there came, To take or be taken, called Dacres by name; And who but a Yankee he met on his way; Says the Yankee to him, "Will you stop and take tea?" After giving Dacres's high and mighty address to his crew, and Hull's more modest appeal, it says:-- Then we off with our hats and gave him a cheer, Swore we'd stick by brave Hull, while a seaman could steer. Then at it we went with a mutual delight, For to fight and to conquer is a seaman's free right. The poet naturally takes the privilege of presenting the confounded Britisher in the most humiliating light, and the manner in which Captain Dacres signified his surrender is probably more graphic than historically correct:-- Then Dacres looked wild, and then sheathed his sword, When he found that his masts had all gone by the board. And, dropping astern, cries out to his steward, "Come up and be d----d! Fire a gun to leeward!"