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All hands, unmoor! unmoor Hark to the hoarse, but welcome sound, Startling the seaman's sweetest slumbers. The groaning capstan's labouring round, The cheerful fife's enliv'ning numbers;. And ling'ring idlers join the brawl, And merry ship-boys swell the call, All hands, unmoor! unmoor! The cry is, "A sail! a sail!"
The following story is strictly authentic: "Not long ago a young man, an acquaintance of the coachman, was walking, as he had often done, in Lord Fife's stables at Banff. Taking an opportunity, when the servants were not regarding him, he put a bridle into his pocket.
And above all the voices, that of Johannes de Molendino was audible, piercing the uproar like the fife's derisive serenade: "Commence instantly!" yelped the scholar. "Down with Jupiter and the Cardinal de Bourbon!" vociferated Robin Poussepain and the other clerks perched in the window.
'But the fife's a pretty instrument, he suggested, and with a candour that seduced the unwary lady to think dubiously whether she quite liked the fife. Miss Barrow pronounced it cheerful. 'Oh, and martial! he exclaimed, happy to have caught Rockney's deliberate gaze. 'The effect of it, I'm told in the provinces is astonishing for promoting enlistment.
"At thy marvellous good faith in thy wife's patriotism, good kinsman oh, well perchance, like charity, it covereth a multitude of sins." "What meanest thou, my Lord of Fife?" demanded Buchan, shortly and abruptly, pausing in his walk to face his companion, his suspicious temper instantly aroused by Fife's peculiar tone. "What wouldst thou insinuate?
'But the fife's a pretty instrument, he suggested, and with a candour that seduced the unwary lady to think dubiously whether she quite liked the fife. Miss Barrow pronounced it cheerful. 'Oh, and martial! he exclaimed, happy to have caught Rockney's deliberate gaze. 'The effect of it, I'm told in the provinces is astonishing for promoting enlistment.
Fife's proud of him, and Scotland's proud of him, and if England hasn't the sense of discerning who she ought to make a Prime Minister of, that isn't Braelands's fault." "For all that," said Christina, sitting among her boys and girls, "Sophy ought to have married Andrew. She would have been alive to-day if she had."
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