south.

"What street is this?" said I, when we had nearly reached the bottom.

"It is no street at all," said my friend; "at least it is not called one
in this city of Cockaine; it is a lane, even that of St. Martin; and that
church that you see there is devoted to him. It is one of the few fine
churches in London. _Malheureusement_, {232} as the French say, it is so
choked up by buildings that it is impossible to see it at twenty yards'
distance from any side. Whenever I get into Parliament, one of my first
motions shall be to remove some twenty score of the aforesaid buildings.
But I think we have arrived at the house to which I wished to conduct
you."

"Yes, I see, _Portobello_."

About twenty yards from the church, on the left-hand side of the street
or lane, was a mean-looking house having something of the appearance of a
fifth-rate inn. Over the door was written in large characters the name
of the haven, where the bluff old Vernon achieved his celebrated victory
over the whiskered Dons. Entering a passage on one side of which was a
bar-room, Ardry enquired of a middle-aged man who stood in it in his
shirt-sleeves, whether the captain was at home. Having received for an
answer a surly kind of "yes," he motioned me to follow him, and after
reaching the end of the passage, which was rather dark, he began to
ascend a narrow, winding stair. About half-way up he suddenly stopped,
for at that moment a loud, hoarse voice from a room above commenced
singing a strange kind of ditty.

"The captain is singing," said Frank, "and, as I live, 'Carolan's Receipt
for drinking whisky'. Let us wait a moment till he has done, as he would
probably not like to be interrupted in his melody."

CAROLAN'S RECEIPT.

'Whether sick or sound my receipt was the same,
To Stafford I stepp'd and better became;
A visit to Stafford's bounteous hall
Was the best receipt of all, of all.

'Midnight fell round us and drinking found us,
At morn again flow'd his whisky;
By his _in_sight he knew 'twas the only way true
To keep Torlough alive and frisky.

'Now deep healths quaffing, now screeching now laughing,
At my harp-strings tearing, and to madness nearing:
That was the life I led, and which I yet do;
For I will swear it, and to all the world declare it,
If you would fain be happy, you must aye be--'

"_Fou_!" said Francis Ardry, suddenly pushing open the door of the room
from which the