Rambles about Portsmouth. Sketches of persons, localities, and incidents of two centuries: principally from tradition and unpublished documents. By Charles W. Brewster.

MY BROTHER BOB. 315
There i's no man more loyal than my brother Bob. I-e
has a bright eye on the conduct of the war, and criticises
everything with the sharpest discrimination. No one is
exempt from his strictures, were he a thousand times his
friend. At a time of terrible inertness in the army, when
active service seemed stiaspended forever, Bob was terribly
exercised about it,. He was engaged in his garden, and his
spade went into the soil as if he were throwing up entrenckments. "Dead enough," said he, as he worked his
spade by some obstacle; "dead enough; why, a defeat
would be better than this." There were certain emphatic
words interspersed that gave the sentence a gothic mas-.siveness.
My Brother Bob comes to town but seldom, holding the
city in but poor esteem. The sun rises here, as he avers,
when he stops over long enough to prove it, in the south
vwest a ud sets he don't knaow where. He has never seen the
great.organ yet and says he don't want to, which is an,offence not to be forgiven. His early musical education,
however, was neglected, which may be submitted in palliation. VWhen asked during a visit which he liked best,
Boston or his own town, he replied gravely that he liked
the latter best, because he could lie down there in the'
street and sleep with no danger of getting run over, while
here he was in danger all the time with his eyes wide.open.
I have written thus far and my pen cleaves to the subject, but I dare risk no more, at present. I received a
letter from him yesterday, dated " Poverty Cottage, Highlands, Wibird's Hiil" —the location may be remembered by
some-where Bob lives enjoying the otium cum dig., cultivating a potato patch and rendering himself useful for a
consideration,'taking care by a judicious advance in the
value of his service to make a depressed currency go as
far as ever he did.