officers had sung 'God save the Emperor,' grandest of national anthems, and then it became our turn to sing 'God save the Queen.' Not one of us could attempt it, so they said they would try, whereupon, standing up, they with their full-toned voices sang it with verbal correctness, perfect pronunciation, and admirable vigour and accuracy. We parted at 'some wee short hour ayont the twal,' and while I write I stop and think of 'little Dick,' merriest, cheeriest, most warm-hearted of Russian lieutenants, and hope that we may meet again at some battle of Armageddon or elsewhere, fighting together on the same side. Whilst turning over old papers I have come across one marked ' 11.30, Christmas Eve, 1863,' my last Christmas in the Navy, last link of a past life, spent on board the 'Magicienne' in Malta harbour with my old friend Durrant. A merry evening it was, in which many a good song was sung, and, amongst others, a famous and stirring west-country song, which I never met with in print, and which I transcribe for Cornish readers as it was sung by their fathers and grandfathers before them. TRELAWNY. A good sword and a trusty hand, A merry heart and true, King James's men shall understand What Cornish men can do. And shall they scorn Tre, Pol, and Pen? There's thirty-thousand Cornish men Out spake our Captain brave and bold, Though London's towers were Michael's hold, We'll cross the Tamar hand in hand, The Exe shall be no stay, Go side by side from strand to strand, And shall they scorn, &c. And when we come to London's wall, A pleasant sight to view ! Come forth! come forth! ye cowards all ! We're better men than you! Trelawny he's in keep and hold, But thirty-thousand underground Shall know the reason why! And shall they scorn, &c. Ah! my old companions of those vocal hours, 'Where be your gibes now, your gambols, your songs, your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on a roar?' Though but a few years have elapsed, how quickly the new generation, like a rear rank, has 'locked up ;' and, as one by one we have fallen out, how noiselessly they have stepped into our places. The solemn march of life goes on unheeding, never needing us. We have had our day, our chances, our opportunities of doing something, and must now give way to others, and soon pass out of remembrance! At last to me came promotion, and once more the joys of home. But, following on, came the ever-nearing and inevitable parting, the last glimpse of waving hands from the railway platform, the last look at the old familiar fields and hedges, and then the leaden weight upon the heart. I left for Paris to carry out an old determination of perfecting myself in French. Hardly had I settled down to work before my sight failed, and I was obliged to discontinue all study. For years I had looked forward to a sojourn in France for the purpose of mastering this-the most useful of all languages to a naval officer--and now, at the very moment of realisation, I was obliged to forego it. It was hard to bear, though the Hand of God was evident in it. It was clear |