his pipe, gazing vacantly at the man who had asked him to sing.

[Pg 34]

"Pray, go on," said the man. "We are all delighted, Mr Halliburton. Have you forgot the words? There's some here, no doubt, as are able to remind ye."

"Oh yes," said a voice. 

[Pg 35]

[Pg 35]

"Are ye speaking to me?" said old John.

"Certainly," was the answer.

"What d'ye want?"

"We want you to finish the song you was just now singing and broke off in."

"Me singing!" exclaimed old John.

"Why, yes, of course."

"Me singing!" quavered old John, with a voice of amazement. "Why, I ha'nt sung this twenty year past."

It was easily seen that the poor old man was deeply in earnest and was to be speedily distressed. It was an affecting exhibition of mental decay, and rough as the company were, they had the good taste to change the subject.

Lower Street was not the street in which Lucy shopped. It consisted mainly of little houses with screen doors and bright brass knockers, and lozenged windows which opened and shut in the French style, so that a small piece of the window could be opened at will. These houses were the dwelling-places of pilots, sailors, and fishermen belonging to the district. In the middle of the street was a Nonconformist Chapel with a burial ground spreading out in front of it till its outer confines were half-way upon the footpath; a wonderfully tended resting-place: its billows of grass marked in most cases the silent beds of seafarers; the decoration of flower or[Pg 36] memorial was largely nautical: the anchor, the Liliputian bows of a ship as a headpiece, and here and there the headpiece was a gun. Tombstones whose 

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