His sword was in its sheath,
His fingers held the pen,
When Kempenfelt went down
With twice four hundred men.
* * * * *
Toll for the brave!
Brave Kempenfelt is gone:
His last sea-fight is fought,
His work of glory done.
* * * * *
Toll for the brave!
The brave that are no more.
All sunk beneath the wave.
Fast by their native shore!
It was nearly dark when we entered the town of Peebles, where we called
at the post office for letters, and experienced some difficulty at first
in obtaining lodgings, seeing that it was the night before the Hiring
Fair. We went first to the Temperance Hotel, but all the beds had been
taken down to make room for the great company they expected on the
morrow; eventually we found good accommodation at the "Cross Keys Inn,"
formerly the residence of a country laird.
We had seen notices posted about the town informing the public that, by
order of the Magistrates, who saw the evil of intoxicating drinks,
refreshments were to be provided the following day at the Town Hall. The
Good Templars had also issued a notice that they were having a
tea-party, for which of course we could not stay.
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