octor granted,
however--at such a moment the Company could make concessions--that
the Die-hards had been singularly fortunate in the one foeman whom
they had been called upon to face. Had it not been for a gentleman
of France the death-roll of the Company had assuredly not stood at
zero. He, their surgeon, readily admitted this, and gave them a
toast, "The Power of Music," associating with this the name of
Monsieur Jean Alphonse Marie Trinquier, Director of Periodic
Festivities to the Municipality of Dieppe. The toast was drunk with
acclamation. M. Trinquier responded, expressing his confident belief
that two so gallant nations as England and France could not long be
restrained from flinging down their own arms and rushing into each
other's. And then followed Captain Pond, who, having moved his
audience to tears, pronounced the Looe Die-hards disbanded.
Thereupon, with a gesture full of tragic inspiration, he cast his
naked blade upon the board. As it clanged amid the dishes and
glasses, M. Trinquier lifted his arms, and the band crashed out the
"Dead Marching Soul," following it with "God Save the King" as the
clock announced midnight and the birth of the New Year.

"But hallo?" exclaimed Captain Pond, sinking back in his chair, and
turning towards M. Trinquier. "I had clean forgot that you are our
prisoner, and should be sent back to Dartmoor! And now the Company
is disbanded, and I have no one to send as escort."

"Monsieur also forgets that my parole expired a fortnight since, and
that my service from that hour has been a service of love!"

M. Trinquier did not return to Dartmoor. For it happened, one dark
night early in the following February, that Mr. Fugler (now restored
to health) set sail for the island of Guernsey upon a matter of
business. And on the morrow the music-master of Dieppe had become
but a pleasing memory to the inhabitants of the Two Looes.

And now, should you take up Mr. Thomas Bond's _History of East and
West Looe_, and read of the Looe Volunteers that "not a single man of
the Company died during the six years, which is certainly very
remarkable," you will be not utterly incredulous; for you will know
how it came about. Still, when one comes to reflect, it does seem an
odd boast for a company of warriors.

MY GRANDFATHER, HENDRY WATTY.

A DROLL.

'Tis the nicest miss in the world that I was born grandson of my own
father's father, and not of another man altogether. He