now, Rose, you have done for it! Oh! father! father!" clenching his two hands and striking his breast: "you were right then, after all! she is a worthless one! and my heart is all turned to stone. Rose, give me your hand ?" (she suffered him to take it.) "A short time agone, do ye see, I shouldn't have given up this hand to the King on his throne! and that I wouldn't, but for why? Why, because I thought you had given it to me with a true heart and an honest will; but now-now that I know you, rotten at the core, like bad fruit with a fair outside, I wouldn't take it, no! not if you were Queen, and courted me!" and he flung her hand from him.

Rose affected to laugh, and sang as she turned away, "Oh, ho! Mr. Jackanapes:

'But I'll make as light of he

As he made of me ;

And I'll be his love no longer,
So farewell he.'"

"One word more, Rose!" and his voice trem

bled as he spoke : "when you come to a bad

end, as the end of such as you will be !-bethink thee then of him who would have cherished and loved thee in youth and age; and with whom thou couldst have lived in respectable wedlock: and then look to thy state-despised and trodden down! Oh Rose, even now, I almost weep for thee! Go! go thy ways, unhappy, wicked Rose !"

Here they were startled by the sound of music, and a small party of soldiers were seen advancing the little spruce drummer marched fiercely before the serjeant and his men; while the merry fife sounded its light shrill voice to make men think that war is a gay pageant, and foolish maidens conceive that it is a pleasant pastime to follow a soldier's fortunes. The recruiting serjeant and his party—for it was indeed no less—now actually crossed the foot of the lane where Ambrose had been left alone by his fickle mistress; and it is no shame to his manhood to declare, that he had wept out his sorrow in an agony of bitter tears.

These gay

sounds, the sight of the brilliant regimentals, the clamour of the village-throng hurraing in

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.

66

"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.

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.