had his leg broken to pieces, by a loaded wagon, how all the town pitied him?

O. Yes, very well. I could not sleep, the night after the accident, for thinking of him.

F. But here are thousands suffering as much as he did, and we scarcely bestow a single thought on them. If any one of these poor creatures were before our eyes, we should probably feel much more for him, than we do now for all of them, together. Shall I tell you a story of a soldier's fortune, that came to my own knowledge? O. Yes, pray do.

F. In the village where I went to school, there was an honest, industrious weaver and his wife, who had an only son, named Walter, just arrived to manhood. Walter was a good and dutiful lad, and a clever workman; so that he was a great help to his parents. One day, having gone to the next market-town, with some work, he met with a companion, who took him to the alehouse, and treated him. As he was coming away, a recruiting sergeant* entered the room, who, seeing Walter to be a likely young fellow, had a great mind to entrap him. He persuaded him to sit down, again, and to take a glass with him; and kept him in talk, with fine stories, about a soldier's life, till Walter became intoxicated, before he was aware. The sergeant then clapped a shilling into his hand, to drink his country's prosperity, and

* Sergeant. An inferior officer in a company, or army, appointed to teach the soldiers the military exercise, preserve order among them, &c.

*

told him he was enlisted. He was kept there, all night, and, next morning, when he had become sober, he was very sorry for what he had done; but he was told, that he could not get off, without paying a large sum, as a punishment. This he knew not how to raise; and, being likewise afraid and ashamed to face his friends, he took the bounty-money, and marched away with the sergeant, without ever returning home. His poor father and mother, when they heard of the affair, were almost heart-broken; and a young woman in the village, to whom he was engaged to be married, nearly became distracted. Walter sent them a line, from the first stage, to bid them farewell, and comfort them. He joined his regiment, which soon embarked for a foreign clime, where it continued, till the peace. Walter, once or twice, sent word home, of his welfare, but, for the last year, nothing was heard of him.

O. Where was he, then? F. You shall hear. One Summer's evening, a man, in an old military coat, hobbling on crutches, was seen to enter the village. His countenance was pale and sickly, his cheeks hollow, and his whole appearance bespoke extreme wretchedness. Several people gathered round him, looking earnestly in his face. Among these, a young woman, having gazed at him awhile, cried out, "my Walter !" and fainted away. Walter fell on the ground; beside her. His father and mother, being

* Bounty-money. The sum paid, to induce a man to join the public service, in the army or navy.

brought by some of the spectators, came and took him in their arms, weeping bitterly. I saw the whole scene, and shall never forget it. At length, the neighbors helped them into the house, where Walter told them the following story.

"At the last great battle, that our troops gained, I was among the first engaged, and received a shot, that broke my thigh. I fell, and, presently after, our regiment was forced to retreat. A squadron of the enemy's horse came galloping down upon us. A trooper making a blow at me with his sabre, as I lay, I lifted up my arm, to save my head, and received a cut, which divided all the sinews at the back of my wrist. Soon after, the enemy were driven back, and came across us again. A horse set his foot on my side, and broke three of my ribs. The action was long and bloody, and the wounded, on both sides, were left on the field, all night. A dreadful night it was to me, you may think! I had fainted, through loss of blood, and, when I recovered, I was tormented with thirst, and the cold air made my wounds smart, intolerably. About noon, next day, wagons came, to carry away those who remained alive; and I, with a number of others, was put into one, to be conveyed to the next town. The motion of the carriage was terrible, for my broken bones; every jolt went to my heart. We were taken to a hospital, which was crowded as full as it could hold; and we should all have been suffocated, with the heat and stench, had not a fever broke out, which soon thinned our numbers. I took it,

and was twice given over, as incurable; however, I struggled through. But my wounds proved so difficult to heal, that it was almost a twelvemonth, before I could be discharged. A great deal of the bone of my thigh came away, in splinters, and left the limb crooked and useless, as you see. I entirely lost the use of three fingers of my right hand; and my broken ribs made me spit blood, a long time, and have left a cough and difficulty of breathing, which I believe will bring me to my grave. I was sent home and discharged from the army, and I have begged my way hither, as well as I could. I am told that the peace has left the affairs of my country just as they were, before; but who will restore me my health and limbs ? I am put on the list as a pensioner, which will support me, if I live to receive it, without being a burden to my friends. That is all that remains

for Walter, now!

O. Poor Walter! What became of him, afterwards?

F. The wound of his thigh broke out, afresh, and discharged more splinters, after a great deal of pain and fever. As Winter came on, his cough increased. He wasted to a skeleton, and died the next Spring. The young woman, to whom he was to have been married, sat up with him, every night, to the last; and, soon after his death, she fell into a consumption, and followed him. The old people, deprived of the stay and comfort of their age, sank into despair and poverty, and were taken into the almshouse, where they ended their days.

This was the history of Walter the Soldier. It has been that of thousands more; and will be that of many a poor fellow, over whose fate you are now rejoicing. Such is the price of a victory.

THE KID.

ONE bleak day in March, Sylvia, returning from a visit to the sheepfold, met with a young Kid, deserted by its dam, on the naked plain. It was bleating, piteously, and was so benumbed with the cold, that it could scarcely stand. Sylvia took it up in her arms, and pressed it close to her bosom. She hastened home, and, showing her little fondling to her parents, begged she might rear it for her own. They consented; and Sylvia immediately procured a basket full of clean straw, and made a bed for him on the hearth. She warmed some milk, and held it to him in a platter. The poor creature drank it up, eagerly, and then licked her hand, for more. Sylvia was delighted. She chafed his slender legs with her warm hands, and soon saw him jump out of his basket, and frisk across the room. When full, he lay down, again, and took a comfortable nap. The next day, the Kid had a name bestowed upon him. As he gave tokens of being an excellent jumper, he was called Capriole. He was introduced to all the rest of the family, and the younger children were allowed to stroke and pat