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said the captain, and there was a great bustle and rattle. . Then, “ Make ready-present-fire !" And fire they did, volley after volley, I know not how many times, right over the body of their dead companion, as he lay in the open grave. How I did start, and was ready to jump as each loud volley went off! Then again, "Invert arms!" said the stout tall captain, and in an instant every man had the muzzle of his gun turned downward, and placed gently upon his toe, whilst hand over hand rested on the butt end of the musket, and the forehead was rested on the hand. There, now the whole line, front and rear rank, stood, thus leaning forward over the grave of their dead comrade, their faces, of course, concealed ; and in this posture they continued for a good long while, all silent as the grave! What could those soldiers be thinking about just then, and all that while? Guess!

Well, this brave young soldier lad, after all his parading, and all his loading and firing-his marching and counter-marching-after all his movements on earth, and all his youthful hopes, has, at length, come to a halt-a dead halt! Yes, indeed, yes! He will never help stop the bold threatened invasion of "little Boney the Great!"-never answer to his captain's word of command-never hear music of the fife and drum any more-never march to the changing step-never return to his quarters, and his loved connexions any more; no, no! Sleep? a profound sleep! Furlough! a long furlough, at length. Finished, all finished-done! discharged! I tell you he has now done with soldiering! Ha!

+ Napoleon Bonaparte, Emperor of France. He was, at this time, at the head of a vast army at Boulogne, preparing to pay us a visit in his flat bottomed boats. On the part of the English, besides the militia and the regular army, nearly all the men in the land were enrolled as Volunteers, to tell him he had best not come ! What dreadful work there would have been if he had come! But there was one who "put a hook into his nose," and led him away to the far north, where his vast victorious army, more than half a million of men, perished by war, and by still more destructive artillery-God's gentle snows. Who can stand before his cold ?

"He's quartered in the arms of death;
He'll never march again !"

Never-never-no! Never, until it shall be said that yonder heavens are no more; never, till the blast of the last trumpet shall rend the skies-shall rend the sepulchre, and raise the dead to judgment; never, no never; no, ah no!-No!

And now the dead soldier is covered up from view, "ashes to ashes, and dust to dust!" Oh, look at those children in white, with that large basket all filled with pretty flowers! what will they do with them? Guess again!—But stop; here come the soldiers. "To the right, face!-Quick march!" And away to a merry, merry tune now they march back to parade, and are then dismissed, every officer and man, to their homes, and to their peaceful callings again. I visited the place thirty years after the period of this funeral, and read the inscription on the tomb: all that I recollect of it is the soldier's name, T. R. J., and these two lines of the epitaph:

:

"You that are young, prepare to die;
For I was young, and here I lie."

Ah, nearly the whole company were, by this time, also in their graves! And the grave is the house appointed for all living. Where, then, will be the soul, the never dying soul?

"Infinite joy, or endless woe
Attends on every breath;
And yet how unconcerned we go
Upon the brink of death."

I once thought that the bravest thing upon this earth was to be a soldier,-a jolly soldier gay; yes, and nothing else but a soldier. I liked play very well; but the best play with me was to hear the fine music, and to watch the soldiers. Yet further, my father never beat me but once, (oh, I feel it still!) and that was for incurring a neglect of something whilst I galloped after the soldiers. One thing, since

then, I have learned, (“live and learn," is the word!) and it is this, that, soldier, or no soldier, all is not gold that glitters! A soldier! With all the bravery and finery, and all the nice music-all the bold notes of the majestic, rolling, rattling, doubling, drum—with everything that fires the martial breast, and stirs the soldier's steps, shall I now be a soldier? I said lately to a christian man, who was then a soldier, but is now something else, that, for my part, I should be a very indifferent soldier, not worth my salt to my employers, and not worth powder and shot to the foe, as "the order of the day" with me is "to do violence to no man." What! shall I shed blood for a shilling a day? and perhaps have my own blood shed in seeking to shed the blood of my fellow-men? How, then, could I look my blessed Maker in the face-the God of love, who has said, "Thou shalt not kill-thou shalt not ?" Do I, then, not like the strains of music now-the trumpet and the drum? Yes, surely, I do like them as much, I think, as any person can. And yet, yet I do not like them! Like them? I hate them, I do!

"I hate the drum's discordant sound,
Parading round, and round, and round;
To me it talks of ravaged plains,
And burning towns, and ruined swains,
And mangled limbs, ar d dying groans,
And widow's tears, and orphan's moans,
And all that misery bestows

To fill the catalogue of human woes."

Take notice,-music may be good, all, and always, except when it leads to evil, especially to war, which is the worst of all the evils to be met with on this side of that woeful world, in which all is evil, and will be evil for ever. Will that do? Well, if a soldier I must be, and no help for it, let me-yes, let me be a soldier of the cross, a good soldier of Jesus Christ, putting around me, each day, the whole armour of God, and, by his help, warring a good warfare against the world, the flesh, and the devil, (ah, dangerous

foes!) but against no creature besides. "I will repay," saith the Judge of all. Then, when I die, (I must die soon; many that are young, like the soldier lad, may die yet much sooner!) then, when I die, I shall have a braver and a sweeter issue out of this world than all which this world can afford. I shall then, certainly, not have to die and be buried and then find myself in hell! no, but amidst the unearthly music and the triumphant shouts of a host of angel-warriors, "ever bright and fair," I shall have an entrance ministered into a good and wealthy place, where no enemy, where no calamity, can come-where there are no funerals-where the inhabitants of the place shall never die, and never want a doctor! Children, will you enlist? Whose soldiers will you be? Make haste and decide, for the day will soon be gone, and then every servant will be placed to dwell with his own master for ever, even for ever and ever! LAMBDA.

Wm.

THE BITTERN.

THIS bird is not much known in our country. Its mouth opens so very wide, that its eyes appear as if fixed in its bill. The feathers form a sort of pendent crest on the hind part of the head, the crown of which is black. The plumage of the bird is of a pale dull yellow, variously marked with black; and some parts about the wings are of a bright rust colour barred with black. On the breast the feathers are long and loose, and the tail is very short. The legs are of a palish green hue: the claws are long, and the middle one is indented in order to retain a better hold of the prey.

The Bittern is a native of various parts of Europe, and in England inhabits the fen countries. In autumn it changes its place of abode, and always commences

its journey at sunset. It is naturally a retired inoffensive bird, leading a solitary life among the reeds and rushes of extensive marshes, where it usually sits with its head erect, so as to see over them, without being seen by the sportsman. In the summer it feeds on fish and frogs; and in autumn it resorts to the

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months of February and March, make a kind of deep booming noise in the mornings and evenings, something like the bellowing of a bull. This is supposed to be the call to the female, and was formerly imagined to be produced by the bird while its beak was plunged into the mud. It is now believed to be caused by a loose membrane, situate at the entrance of the throat, and which is capable of being widely expanded. The Bittern flies chiefly in the dusk of the evening, and rises by a spiral ascent till it is out of sight, uttering at the same time a strange cry, quite different from its booming.

In April, the female composes a simple nest of sedges, the leaves of water plants, and dry rushes;

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