And Monmouth loud proclaim;
Let York in triumph proudly swell
The measure of his fame.
For auld lang syne, my dear, &c.

Shall sons of freedom e'er forget,
Till time shall cease to move,
The debt they owe to Lafayette
Of gratitude and love?
For auld lang syne, my dear, &c.

The song was listened to with considerable pleasure by the company, and
there was an occasional attempt, on the part of the veterans, to join in
the chorus, which, however, ended in a slight cough and shaking of the
head, as if the attempt was hopeless.

"There's good sentiment in that song," remarked Smith. "It stirs the
heart."

"Mr. Harmar, did you say the piece was your own composition?" inquired
Morton.

"It is one of my humble efforts," modestly replied Mr. Jackson Harmar.

"I'm very glad there are some young men left who can write something
else besides the love trash that's so popular," said Mr. Higgins. Old
men generally have a strong aversion or lofty contempt for everything
relating to the love matters of youth.

"Everything has its time," was the sage remark of Mr. Jackson Harmar;