At our united request, his humming
became distinct. Three of the verses I give here:
"The 'Lovely Jane' went sailing down
To anchor at the Spicy Isles;
And the wind was fair as ever was blown,
For the matter of a thousand miles.
"Then a storm arose as she crossed the line,
Which it caused her masts to crack;
And she gulped her fill of the whooping brine,
And she likewise sprained her back.
"And the capting cried, 'If it's Davy Jones,
Then it's Davy Jones,' says he,
'Though I don't aspire to leave my bones
In the equatorial sea.'"
What the further history of the 'Lovely Jane' was we were not informed,
for Ruth Devlin announced that the song must wait, though it appeared to
be innocuous and child-like in its sentiments, and that lunch would be
served between the acts of the touching tragedy. When lunch was over, and
we had again set forth upon the Whi-Whi, I asked Ruth to sing an old
French-Canadian song which she had once before sung to us. Many a time
the woods of the West had resounded to the notes of 'En Roulant ma
Boule', as the 'voyageurs' traversed the long paths of the Ottawa, St.
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