My Tommy's gone to Baltimore, etc. A favorite and familiar pulling song is Whiskey for my Johnny:-- Whiskey is the life of man, _Whiskey_-Johnny! We 'll drink our whiskey while we can, _Whiskey_ for my Johnny! I drink whiskey, and my wife drinks gin, Chorus. The way she drinks it is a sin, Chorus. I and my wife cannot agree," Chorus. For she drinks whiskey in her tea, Chorus. I had a girl; her name was Lize, Chorus. And she put whiskey in her pies, Chorus. Whiskey's gone, and I 'll go too, Chorus. For without whiskey I can't do, etc. A very enlivening windlass or pumping chant is I'm Bound for the Rio Grande:-- I'm bound away this very day, Oh, you Rio! I'm bound away this very day, I'm bound for the Rio Grande! And away, you Rio, oh, you Rio! I'm bound away this ve-ry day, I'm bound for the Rio Grande! Another is Homeward Bound with a Roaring Breeze:-- We 're homeward bound with a roaring breeze, Good-by, fare you well! We 're homeward bound with a roaring breeze, Hurrah, my boys! We 're homeward bound! I wrote to Kitty, and she was well, Good-by, fare you well! She rooms at the Astor and dines at the Bell, Hurrah, my boys! We 're homeward bound! There were many, with slight American variants, which were undoubtedly of English origin, and have been heard on English merchant ships from time immemorial; some which relate especially to the operations of whaling; and some which had their origin on the river flatboats and in the choruses of the roustabouts on the Ohio and Mississippi, and have been only slightly changed for salt-water purposes, the quality being as little varied as the number is endless. Their essential quality was that of an improvised chant, and the dominant feeling was to be found in the intermingling of the words and the cadence, as in the apparently meaningless refrain of the old ballads. They expressed, through all their rudeness and uncouthness, and more through the melody than the words, the minor chords which distinguish all folk music, the underlying element in the human heart oppressed by the magnitude and solitude of nature, as well as the enlivening spirit of strong exertion; and no sensitive ear could ever call them really gay, however vigorous and lively they might be. The shanties are passing away with the substitution of iron cranks and pulleys for the muscles of men, and the clank of machinery has taken the place of the melodious chorus from human throats. It is not probable that they will ever entirely disappear so long as men go down to the sea in ships; but whatever life and flavor they had will fade away, and the first-class leading tenor among the "shanty men" will vanish with the need and appreciation of his skill. As for the old words, they will also be utterly lost, because they have