Chapter 5 - Page 2

his brother Robert, whom he had mentioned just before.

'Robert is as well as ever, thank you, Miss Garland,' he said. 'He is now mate of the brig Pewit--rather young for such a command; but the owner puts great trust in him.' The trumpet-major added, deepening his thoughts to a profounder view of the person discussed, 'Bob is in love.'

Anne looked conscious, and listened attentively; but Loveday did not go on.

'Much?' she asked.

'I can't exactly say. And the strange part of it is that he never tells us who the woman is. Nobody knows at all.'

'He will tell, of course?' said Anne, in the remote tone of a person with whose sex such matters had no connexion whatever.

Loveday shook his head, and the tete-a-tete was put an end to by a burst of singing from one of the sergeants, who was followed at the end of his song by others, each giving a ditty in his turn; the singer standing up in front of the table, stretching his chin well into the air, as though to abstract every possible wrinkle from his throat, and then plunging into the melody. When this was over one of the foreign hussars--the genteel German of Miller Loveday's description, who called himself a Hungarian, and in reality belonged to no definite country--performed at Trumpet-major Loveday's request the series of wild motions that he denominated his national dance, that Anne might see what it was like. Miss Garland was the flower of the whole company; the soldiers one and all, foreign and English, seemed to be quite charmed by her presence, as indeed they well might be, considering how seldom they came into the society of such as she.

Anne and her mother were just thinking of retiring to their own dwelling when Sergeant Stanner of the --th Foot, who was recruiting at Budmouth, began a satirical song:--

When law'-yers strive' to heal' a breach', And par-sons prac'-tise what' they preach'; Then lit'-tle Bo-ney he'll pounce down', And march' his men' on Lon'-don town'!

Chorus.--Rol'-li-cum ro'-rum, tol'-lol-lo'-rum, Rol'-li-cum ro'-rum, tol'-lol-lay.

When jus'-ti-ces' hold e'qual scales', And rogues' are on'-ly found' in jails'; Then lit'tle Bo'-ney he'll pounce down', And march' his men' on Lon'-don town'!

Chorus.--Rol'-li-cum ro'-rum, tol'-lol-lo'-rum, Rol'-li-cum ro'-rum, tol'-lol-lay.

When rich' men find' their wealth' a curse', And fill' there-with' the poor' man's purse'; Then lit'-tle Bo'-ney he'll pounce down', And march' his men' on Lon'-don town'!

Chorus.--Rol'-li-cum ro'-rum, tol'-lol-lo'-rum, Rol'-li-cum ro'-rum, tol'-lol-lay.

Poor Stanner! In spite of his satire, he fell at the bloody battle of Albuera a few years after this pleasantly spent summer at the Georgian watering-place, being mortally wounded and trampled down by a French hussar when the brigade was deploying into line under Beresford.

While Miller Loveday was