"Alas!" continued the preacher; "I see ye will walk after your own devices, and every one of ye will do the imaginations of his evil heart; but the Lord will scatter ye as with an east wind before the enemy; he will hide his face from ye in the day of your calamity. Turn ye, turn ye, why will ye not turn from your sins, O house of Israel !"

"House of Israel !" cried Sidebotham, affecting to be angry; "do ye take us for Jews!-sad dogs are we in truth, but Jews!-call us not Jews, Sir; we are men of mettle and honour."

"Of mettle ye may be, Lieutenant Sidebotham," said White; and questionless ye have shown full gallantly your courage, but in truth I cannot see how honour may exist compatible with an utter disregard of every thing holy; and even granting your assertion, your conduct is still blameable; it lacketh discretion, and discretion should be a soldier's chiefest virtue. What would Colonel Sydenham say of ye, did he know, that, instead of conducting your troop into Hidelands, you were here, in the face of day, wassailing and exposing them to the enemy?"

"The troop, Sir," said Sidebotham, " is dissolved; the muster was called here, and the men broke. Each man is a private cavalier, and we are all equal. You will not deny that it is the proper right of every individual to follow his liking. Seventy men rode homeward; we stayed here, to drink a speedy return to King Charles, and confusion to his enemies."

"An' I'll e'en join ye in that toast," cried Armstrong, filling a cup of wine. He gave the toast, and emptied the cup, "an' till my thinkin', Master White,” continued the Borderer, "ye'll no disgrace yer ministry by doin' the like."

"Nevertheless, Sir," answered the pastor: "I will stand excused; the spirit of your toast rests in my heart; and hath no need of outward ceremony to preserve it in existence."

"Aweel, aweel, ye're ae guid judge of yer ain conscience," cried Armstrong," and ye'se no tak' the

vomit wi' ae wry mou',-but cummers, how lang do yer honours mean to wassail here? It's amaist likely that bleid-hound Snell will be laid on the scent ere now, an' ye're in no case to bide the meeting."

"Jonathan Snell may go to hell;" replied Sidebotham: "if he shows his feather here, he shall be met withal."

"Ay, ay," said the Scot; "but ye'se mind he'll be ten strong till yer one, an' he'll no think of fechtin' sic odds I trow."

"Ay, marry, but we will," cried Sidebotham; " and when we can fight no longer, we'll ride and run— -what say ye, comrades? Is there one dastard among ye that would run without striking a blow against any odds?-speak. If there be, let him draw off."

"Not one," cried all; "if he brings an army of devils."

"That's right," cried Sidebotham; "they're true cocks of my own breed, and that's game, look ye, to the back-bone. I'll stand by ye, while I've steel to my hilt, and strength in my arm, or may I be horsed for a coward, and eaten by blue devils."

Sidebotham was soon perfectly drunk, and insisted that Armstrong and the pastor should sit down, but they steadily refused.

"Sit ye down, my worthies," cried the English Lieutenant; and make yourselves merry at my expense-(hiccup)-it's all at my expense, isn't it, Shortmalt?hiccup)-where the devil's Shortmalt? Robin, you lousy Round-head, come forth, and show us your villainous phiz." He then attempted to sing. King James, he was a noble king, And well his Majesty could sing; He lik'd a Jack,

Of good old sack;

And for bright Champagne
Would have lost his reign;

So fond was King James of wassailry.

"Hurra! my jolly boys; (hiccup)-let Snell and

his infernal troop show their faces, that's all-let them come within the sweep of my broad sword." He continued his song:

King James he loved a ranting blade,

And King James he loved a pretty maid;
The noble soul

Loved a swimming bowl;
From a wench's lip,

The juice would be sip;

So fond was King James of wine and love.

The Pastor quitted the house, and walked slowly onward towards Banner Cross; Armstrong still staid behind, in the hope of prevailing upon the other Cavaliers to set out; but in vain, they were to a man more or less intoxicated, and refused to stir.

"Come, Armstrong," said Sidebotham, when Mr. White had quitted the house, now old Formality's gone, ye may sit down and take your rest; (hiccup) drink, man, for old fellowship; (hiccup) there's nought like good wine for improving the-(hiccup)-no, not the hiccup, but the-(hiccup)-D-n the hiccup. What was I talking about? Never mind, I'll give ye the last verse of King James."-(hiccup.)

King James was two score years and five,
And King James was the merriest king alive;
For he danced and sung,
Till the welkin rung;
He drank, and played
With his pretty maid;

So fond was King James of revelry.

"An pray ye, my guid chiel," said Armstrong, "whilk of the Jamies do ye mean? for I ne'er heard of this merry fellow afore."

“ D—n me, if I knew,” replied Sidebotham, " or if I care (hiccup). Sit ye down. Armstrong, and don't stand there, like a Round-head. Here, Robin Shortmalt-more wine, ye greasy faced tapster-an ye don't sit, Armstrong, ye're no friend of mine, and

as little of the cause (hiccup). Shortmalt! Here, ye imp of Belzebub. Bring us half a dozen flasks of cogniac and some claret."

Armstrong, at length, perceiving there was no chance of gaining his point, left the inn in despite of the drunken remonstrances of Sidebotham and his friends. He hastily walked down the hill towards Banner Cross, and having overtaken the Pastor, they proceeded on their way.

CHAPTER XIX.

In haste the portal was unclosed then,
And swung unto the lymit of itt's barre;
And forthe there issued armed horse and men,
Pursuyng and pursued in one wylde warre :

Nowe mote ye heare the victor's shout from far,

Which pealed throughe the ayr with dreadful veyne,
Seemyng the foemen's fortytude to marre ;

Who never turned headde, nor drew a reyne,

'Till they had 'scap'd the townne, and gain'd the level playne. Romaunt of Alfred.

ARMSTRONG and the Pastor continued on their route across the Paisley Moss, with great expedition, beguiling their march by conversing on the brutal intemperance of the cavaliers whom they had left at Chapel-en-le-Frith.

"It is one of yer English proverbs," said the Scot, "that the proof of the puddin's in the eatin' an' ye'll now be convinced, Mr. White, that I spake veritably, in saying ye might as weel try to move ae mountain as a drunken mon. Sidebotham an' his cummers wad na put foot in stirrup, were an angel to come frae heaven an' pray 'em till't. They'll haud their wassail till this time to-morrow, gin they're na roused by Snell."

Wine, as the holy proverbs say," answered the pastor, "is truly a mocker; and strong drink is as a raging lion nay, worse than either are those enemies of man; for, with a deceitful and hollow treachery, they beguile our understandings, under the assumption of cheering our spirits. Best is he who putteth wholly away the devilish workers of intoxication."

"Halt there, Master White," said Armstrong; "ye're backing ae cusser that'll kick out yer ain harns; for though, ye ken, I mind little of ceremonies, an' to me maist sects of religion are black an' a' black, yet I'm given to thinkin the great God wad na create ony thing whilk there was nae use for; an' its no' to say, that because a batch o' bullies dinna ken to mete proper measure till their wants, that guid wine an' brandy are the de'ils ain potations. Haud there; that's ae gate too far."

"I confess, Mr. Armstrong," answered Mr. White, humbly, "you have answered me upon this point much to your own honour, and my confusion. The Lord doth indeed create nothing without some wise purpose in view; and he must lack common understanding, who dare insist otherwise."

"What think ye of the king's return?" said the borderer, delicately changing the conversation. "Is it nearer than before Cromwell's death? or is the race of the Stuarts banished for ever?"

"Trust me," replied White, "I hope not so: the people of England are aweary of their slavery and debasement under this military regimen, and will doubtless shake off the degrading yoke."

"Gin the people are na weary of their subjection," said Armstrong, "I trow king Charlie is of his exile. It's daft wark playing wi' yer thumbs for years thegither: an' after beholding, for a wee bit, the splendour of his father's court, to sit down in ae German city, wi' nae mair state than ane of their pitiful barons." "Remember," said the pastor, «Viro forti pro VOL. II.

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