grease and
scum on the water. I was about giving up my search when I met my old
friend, the watchman.

"Well, did ye find the chanties?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "They can't be printed." His old eyes twinkled merrily:

"Of course they can't. An' _most_ songs an' stories can't. But I'll give
ye a nice little song ye can print. It's the oldest chanty of 'em all.
I'll try to remember an' write it down."

Here is the song he gave me:

ROLLING HOME

To Australia's fair-haired maidens
We will bid our last good-bye.
We are going home to England,
We may never more see you.

Rolling home, rolling home,
Rolling home across the sea,
Rolling home to merry England,
Rolling home dear land to thee.

We will leave you our best wishes
As we leave your rocky shores,
We are going home to England,
We may never see you more.
Rolling home....

Up aloft amidst her rigging
Spreading out her snow white sails,
Like a bird with outstretched pinions,
On we speed before the gale.
Rolling home....

And the wild waves, as we leave them,
Seem to murmur as they roll;
There are hands and hearts to greet thee
In that land to which you go.
Rolling home....

Cheer up, Jack, fond hearts await thee,
And kind welcomes everywhere;
There are hands and hearts to greet thee,
Kind caresses from the fair.

Rolling home, rolling home,
Rolling home across the sea,
Rolling home to merry England,
Rolling home dear land to thee.

"Do they ever sing those words?" I asked suspiciously. The old Irishman
looked steadily back.

"Sure they sing 'em--sometimes," he said. "It's the same thing as them
other songs--only nicer put. Put to be printed," he added.

He found me others "put to be printed." Soon I had quite a collection.
And with the help of my German teacher I wrote down the music.

"There are not enough for a book," he said. "Why don't you write an
article, tell where you found them, put them in, and send it to a paper?
So you can give them to the world."

This I at once set out to do. In the writing I found again that deep
delight I had had on the dock, just far enough off to miss the dirt, the
sweat and the words of the song. I showed the article to my mother, and
she was surprised and delighted. Working together, in less than a week
we had poli