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thoughtless, ignorant admiration, awoke a sudden sentiment, hitherto unknown, in the breast of the forsaken Ambrose.

“ Dang it,” he said, “ I have been insulted, braved by a man who's above me in life, and below me in heart; I have been put in prison by him”—and he ground his teeth together “ for defending one, who-ay, that 's the worst on't,-a worthless, wanton jade, whom I did so love-whom I do so love-Oh! oh!” and he burst out afresh into loud sobbing.–“No, I 'll go for a soldier, and serve my king and country; and if a bullet goes through my heart, so much the better : for Rose, yes Rose, has broken it. But I'll be a man---yes, I'll be a man; so there's an end on't:” and away he went, swinging his arms and striding along till he reached the Wellington public-house, where he found the serjeant and his recruiting-party enjoying a cool tankard with a number of idle clowns standing with open mouths around, listening to the insidious speeches of the man of war.

“ Come, my brave boys!” he cried ; “ come

and see a little of life ! don't stay here, tied to your mammy's apron-strings; come and fight for

your sovereign, and see the world; it's a pity such fine fellows as you should be stooping all day over a plough or a spade ; better list with me. See here's this youngster,” (pointing to the drummer,)“ he's as jolly a little dog as ever handled a drumstick, and in time will do brave service; why, he's as happy a little fellow as is in the land, and that's saying a good deal. Jim's a glorious pickle—a’n't you, Jim?-and you can take off your ale with the best of us.”

One or two of the women who had been standing gazing around, now pulled away their young boys; and, lifting their eyes to heaven, , devoutly prayed, that if such alone were a soldier's life, her precious child might never become one : but the younger and more thoughtless members of the community had different wishes and ideas; and when the serjeant called to one of his men to give them a song, a larger circle again collected round the porch-door of the public-house.

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SOLDIER'S SONG.

A Soldier's life's a jolly thing :
He serves his country, serves his king ;
And when he's fought on foreign strand,
Again he comes to British land,
With money in his pockets, boys.
Oh, money gives us many joys :
Good ale, good cheer, and what not, boys?
A draught and pipe that never cloys.
Oh, then we rant, and then we sing
Britannia rule, God bless the King !

With my fal, la, la, brave boys !

There's money chinking in my purse,
You may go farther and fare worse :
A brimming tankard foaming o'er;
Drain it, my lads, and ask for more.
Here's colours ! come, my hearties, say,
Will you not wear them ? yea, or nay?
I know your hearts, how brave they be:
I drink to thee, come drink to me.
Oh! thus we'll rant, and thus we'll sing
Britannia rule, God save the King !

With my fal, la, la, brave boys !

A Soldier's life's the life for me;
Try it and see how gay we be:
Not a care to vex or teaze us,
And no wife to come and seize us.

When with our gay comrades drinking,
We are spared the pains of thinking
What

may be our hap to-morrow,
Since to-day we're free from sorrow.
Come, brave fellows, join our crew!
Will you, my hearty? you, or you?

With my fal, la, la, brave boys !

“I will !" said Ambrose, half-drunk with ale, and wholly stupified with sorrow.

“ What! Ambrose Philips leave Rose ?" cried many voices. “Silence, I say! or I will silence

you

after another sort ! am I to be questioned by such as you ?”

“ What !” said one old man with white hair, and in a tremulous voice, leaning on a stick, “ Ambrose leave his old feather ?"

“ Father!" repeated Ambrose, with an agonized look; and staggering to his feet he seemed about to depart, when the serjeant tipped the wink to one of his men, who dashed a glass of spirits into the tankard he handed to him.

“ Come, my brave fellow ! you will not part without a farewell cup, at least.” And now fol

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lowed story upon story, song upon song, till Ambrose, fired at the confused images of pleasure that the serjeant and his men represented on one hand, and those of pain and disgrace which overwhelmed him on the other, held out his hand to the former, who, putting a guinea into it, which Ambrose unconsciously grasped, declared him enlisted ; and the poor victim of disappointed love and intoxicationwas marched off, between two men of the party, to quarters. There, on the morrow, he awoke too late to reason and a

sense of his folly; the most wretched wight that dazzling glory and a worthless woman had ever cozened to his own undoing.

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

LONDON:
PRINTED BY S. AND R. BENTLEY,

Dorset Street, Fleet Street.

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