The Sergeant makes a loyal speech and sings a song, both of which are well received by the company.

And when I got to Bournemouth I dreamed again; and a singular thing during this history was, that always in my dream I began where I had left off on the previous night. So I saw that there, in the room at “The Goose,” were Sergeant Goodtale, and Harry, and Joe, and the rest, just as I had left them when I last awoke. But methought there was an air of swagger on the part of the head witness which I had not observed previously. His hat was placed on one side, in imitation of the sergeant’s natty cap, and he seemed already to hold up his head in a highly military manner; and when he stooped down to get a light he tried to stoop in the same graceful and military style as the sergeant himself; and after blowing it out, threw down the spill in the most off-hand manner possible, as though he said, “That’s how we chaps do it in the Hussars!” Everyone noticed the difference in the manner and bearing of the young recruit. There was a certain swagger and boldness of demeanour that only comes after you have enlisted. Nor was this change confined to outward appearance alone. What now were pigs in the mind of Joe? Merely the producers of pork chops for breakfast. What was Dobbin that slowly dragged the plough compared to the charger that Joe was destined to bestride? And what about Polly Sweetlove and her saucy looks? Perhaps she’d be rather sorry now that she did not receive with more favour his many attentions. Such were the thoughts that passed through the lad’s mind as he gradually awakened to a sense of his new position. One thought, however, strange to say, did not occur to him, and that was as to what his poor old mother would think. Dutiful son as Joe had always been, (though wild in some respects), he had not given her a single thought. But his reflections, no doubt, were transient and confused amid the companions by whom he was surrounded.

“You’ll make a fine soldier,” said the Boardman, as he saw him swagger across to his seat.

“Yes,” said the sergeant, “any man that has got it in him, and is steady, and doesn’t eat too much and drink too much, may get on in the army. It isn’t like it used to be.”

“I believe that,” said Bob Lazyman.

“The only thing,” continued the sergeant, “is, there is really so little to do—there’s not work enough.”

“That ud suit me,” said Bob.

“Ah! but stop,” added the sergeant, “the temptations are great—what with the girls—.”

“Hooray!” exclaimed Dick; “that beats all—I likes them better than mutton chops.”

“Yes,” replied the sergeant; “they are all very well in their way; but you know, if a man wants to rise in the army, he must be steady.”

“Steady, boys! stea—dy!” shouted Dick

I don’t know how far the sergeant was justified, morally, in thus holding out the prospect of riotous living to these hungry men, but I think, all things considered, it was an improvement on the old system of the pressgang, which forced men into the navy. These lads were not bound to believe the recruiting sergeant, and were not obliged to enter into a contract with Her Majesty. At the same time, the alluring prospects were such that if they had been represented as facts in the commercial transactions of life, such is the purity of the law that they would have given rise to much pleading, multifarious points reserved, innumerable summonses at Chambers, and, at least, one new trial.

“Now,” said Jack Outofwork, “I tell yer what it is—I don’t take no Queen’s shilling, for why? it ain’t the Queen’s—it belongs to the people—I’m for a republic.”

‘“Well,” said the sergeant, “I always like to meet a chap that calls himself a republican, and I’ll tell you why. This country is a republic, say what you like, and is presided over by our gracious Queen. And I should like to ask any man in this country—now, just listen, lads, for this is the real question, whether—”

“Now, order,” said Lazyman, “I never ’eerd nothing put better.”

“Let’s have order, gentlemen,” said Harry; “chair! chair!”

“All ’tention, sergeant,” said Dick.

“I say,” continued the sergeant; “let us suppose we got a republic to-morrow; well, we should want a head, or as they say, a president.”

“That’s good,” said half-a-dozen voices.

“Well, what then?” said the sergeant; “Who would you choose? Why, the Queen, to be sure.”

Everybody said “The Queen!” And there was such a thumping on the table that all further discourse was prevented for several minutes. At last everyone said it was good, and the sergeant had put it straight.

“Well, look’ee ’ere, lads—I was born among the poor and I don’t owe nothing to the upper classes, not even a grudge!”

“Hear! hear! Bravo, Mr. Sergeant!” cried all.

“Well, then; I’ve got on so far as well as I can, and I’m satisfied; but I’ll tell you what I believe our Queen to be—a thorough woman, and loves her people, especially the poor, so much that d---d if I wouldn’t die for her any day—now what d’ye think o’ that?”

Everybody thought he was a capital fellow.

“Look, here,” he continued, “it isn’t because she wears a gold crown, or anything of that sort, nor because a word of her’s could make me a field marshal, or a duke, or anything o’ that sort, nor because she’s rich, but I’ll tell you why it is—and it’s this—when we’re fighting we don’t fight for her except as the Queen, and the Queen means the country.”

“Hear! hear! hear! hear!”

“Well, we fight for the country—but she loves the soldiers as though they were not the country’s but her own flesh and blood, and comes to see ’em in the hospital like a mother, and talks to ’em the same as I do to you, and comforts ’em, and prays for ’em, and acts like the real mother of her people—that’s why I’d die for her, and not because she’s the Queen of England only.”

“Bravo!” said Joe. “Hope I shall soon see her in th’ ’orsepittal. It be out ’ere: beant it St. Thomas’s.”

“I hope you won’t, my brave lad,” said the sergeant; “but don’t tell me about republicanism when we’ve got such a good Queen; it’s a shame and a disgrace to mention it.”

“So it be,” said Joe; “I’m darned if I wouldn’t knock a feller into the middle o’ next week as talked like thic. Hooroar for the Queen!”

“And now I’m going to say another thing,” continued the sergeant, who really waxed warm with his subject, and struck admiration into his audience by his manner of delivery: may I say that to my mind he was even eloquent, and ought to have been a sergeant-at-law, only that the country would have been the loser by it: and the country, to my mind, has the first right to the services of every citizen. “Just look,” said the sergeant, “at the kindness of that—what shall I call her? blessed!—yes, blessed Princess of Wales! Was there ever such a woman? Talk about Jael in the Bible being blessed above women—why I don’t set no value upon her; she put a spike through a feller it’s true, but it was precious cowardly; but the Princess, she goes here and goes there visiting the sick and poor and homeless, not like a princess, but like a real woman, and that’s why the people love her. No man despises a toady more than I do—I’d give him up to the tender mercies of that wife of Heber the Keenite any day; but if the Princess was to say to me, ‘Look ’ere, Sergeant, I feel a little low, and should like some nice little excitement just to keep up my spirits and cheer me up a bit’” (several of them thought this style of conversation was a familiar habit with the Princess and Sergeant Goodtale, and that he must be immensely popular with the Royal Family), “well, if she was to say, ‘Look here, Sergeant Goodtale, here’s a precipice, it ud do me good to see you leap off that,’ I should just take off my coat and tuck up my shirt sleeves, and away I should go.”

At such unheard of heroism and loyalty there was a general exclamation of enthusiasm, and no one in that company could tell whom he at that moment most admired, the Princess or the Sergeant.

“That’s a stunner!” said Joe.

“Princess by name and Princess by nature,” replied the sergeant; “and now look’ee here, in proof of what I say, I’m going to give you a toast.”

“Hear, hear,” said everybody.

“But stop a minute,” said the sergeant, “I’m not a man of words without deeds. Have we got anything to drink to the toast?”

All looked in their respective cups and every one said, “No, not a drop!”

Then said the sergeant “We’ll have one all rounded for the last. You’ll find me as good as my word. What’s it to be before we part?”

“Can’t beat this ’ere,” said Joe, looking into the sergeant’s empty glass.

“So say all of us,” exclaimed Harry.

“That’s it,” said all.

“And a song from the sergeant,” added Devilmecare.

“Ay, lads, I’ll give you a song.”

Then came in the pretty maid whom Joe leered at, and the sergeant winked at; and then came in tumblers of the military beverage, and then the sergeant said:

“In all companies this is drunk upstanding, and with hats off, except soldiers, whose privilege it is to keep them on. You need not take yours off, Mr. Wurzel; you are one of Her Majesty’s Hussars. Now then all say after me: ‘Our gracious Queen; long may she live and blessed be her reign—the mother and friend of her people!’”

The enthusiasm was loud and general, and the toast was drunk with as hearty a relish as ever it was at Lord Mayor’s Banquet.

“And now,” said the sergeant, “once more before we part—”

“Ah! but the song?” said the Boardman.

“Oh yes, I keep my word. A man, unless he’s a man of his word, ought never to wear Her Majesty’s uniform!” And then he said:

“The Prince and Princess of Wales and the rest of the Royal Family.”

This also was responded to in the same unequivocal manner; and then amid calls of “the sergeant,” that officer, after getting his voice in tune, sang the following song:

GOD BLESS OUR DEAR PRINCESS.

There’s not a grief the heart can bear
But love can soothe its pain;
There’s not a sorrow or a care
It smiles upon in vain.
And She sends forth its brightest rays
Where darkest woes depress,
Where long wept Suffering silent prays—
God save our dear Princess!

chorus.

She soothes the breaking heart,
She comforts in distress;
She acts true woman’s noblest part.
God save our dear Princess
She bringeth hope to weary lives
So worn by hopeless toil;
E’en Sorrow’s drooping form revives
Beneath her loving smile.
Where helpless Age reluctant seeks
Its refuge from distress,
E’en there Her name the prayer bespeaks
God save our dear Princess!

It’s not in rank or princely show
True Manhood’s heart to win;
’Tis Love’s sweet sympathetic glow
That makes all hearts akin.
Though frequent storms the State must stir
While Freedom we possess,
Our hearts may all beat true to Her,
Our own beloved Princess.

The violet gives its sweet perfume
Unconscious of its worth;
So Love unfolds her sacred bloom
And hallows sinful earth;
May God her gentle life prolong
And all her pathway bless;
Be this the nation’s fervent song—
God save our dear Princess!

Although the language of a song may not always be intelligible to the unlettered hearer, the spirit and sentiment are; especially when it appeals to the emotions through the charms of music. The sergeant had a musical voice capable of deep pathos; and as the note of a bird or the cry of an animal in distress is always distinguishable from every other sound, so the pathos of poetry finds its way where its words are not always accurately understood. It was very observable, and much I thought to the sergeant’s great power as a singer, that the first chorus was sung with a tone which seemed to imply that the audience was feeling its way: the second was given with more enthusiasm and vehemence: the third was thumped upon the table as though a drum were required to give full effect to the feelings of the company; while the fourth was shouted with such heartiness that mere singing seemed useless, and it developed into loud hurrahs, repeated again and again; and emphasized by the twirling of hats, the clapping of hands, and stamping of feet.

“What d’ye think o’ that?” says the Boardman.

“I’m on,” said Lazyman; “give me the shilling, sergeant, if you please?”

“So’m I,” said Saunter.

“Hooroar!” shouted the stentorian voice that had erstwhile charmed the audience with Brimstone’s sermon.

“Bravo!” said Harry.

“Look’ee here,” said Jack Outofwork, “we’ve had a werry pleasant evenin’ together, and I ain’t goin’ to part like this ’ere; no more walkin’ about looking arter jobs for me, I’m your man, sergeant.”

“Well,” said the sergeant, eyeing his company, “I didn’t expect this; a pluckier lot o’ chaps I never see; and I’m sure when the Queen sees you it’ll be the proudest moment of her life. Why, how tall do you stand, Mr. Lazyman?”

“Six foot one,” said he.

“Ha,” said the Sergeant, “I thought so. And you, Mr. Outofwork?”

“I don’t rightly know,” said Jack.

“Well,” said the sergeant, “just stand up by the side of me—ha, that will do,” he added, pretending to take an accurate survey, “I think I can squeeze you in—it will be a tight fit though.”

“I hope you can, Mr. Sergeant,” said he.

“Look ’ere,” laughed Joe; “We’ll kitch ’old of his legs and give him a stretch, won’t us, Sergeant?”

And so the bright shillings were given, and the pretty maid’s services were again called in; and she said “she never see sich a lot o’ plucky fellows in her born days;” and all were about to depart when, as the sergeant was shaking hands with Dick Devilmecare in the most pathetic and friendly manner, as though he were parting from a brother whom he had not met for years, Devilmecare’s eyes filled with tears, and he exclaimed,

“Danged if I’ll be left out of it, sergeant; give me the shillin’?”

At this moment the portly figure of Mr. Bumpkin again appeared in the doorway!