Words of kindness in the hour of distress, by whomsoever offered, at once find their way to the heart, and open up the sluices of its pent-up feelings.  The friendly address of the stranger had this effect on me in the present instance.  I told him at once what had occurred to me.

“Bad business, my lad; bad business indeed,” he said.  “But don’t be cast down.  Fair weather comes after foul.  You’ll soon make all up again.”

This was commonplace enough comfort; but without minding the words, the intention was good, and with that I was gratified.

My new friend, who had learnt from what I told him that I was penniless, now proposed that I should take share of a bottle of ale with him.  Certain recollections of another friend, namely, Mr. Lancaster, made me hesitate, indeed positively decline, this invitation at first; but on my new acquaintance pressing his kindness, and the melancholy truth occurring to me that I had now no pocket-book to lose, I yielded, and accompanied him to a tavern at the foot of the High Street.  I may add that I was the more easily induced to this, that I was in a dreadful state of exhaustion, having tasted nothing in the shape of either food or drink for nearly thirty hours.

Having entered the tavern, a bottle of ale and a plate of biscuit quickly stood before us.  My entertainer filled up the glasses; when, having presented me with one, he raised his own to his lips, wished me “better luck,” and tossed it off.  I quickly followed his example, and never before or since drank anything with so keen a relish.  After we had drunk a second glass each—­

“Well, my lad,” said my new acquaintance, “what do you propose doing?  Do you intend returning to the plough-tail, eh?  I should hardly think you’ll venture home again after such a cursed mishap.”

I at once acknowledged that I did not intend returning home again; but as to what I should do, I did not know.

“Why, now,” replied my entertainer, “I think a stout, good-looking, likely young fellow as you are need be at no loss.  There’s the army.  Did you ever think of that, eh?  The only thing for a lad of spirit.  Smart clothes, good living, and free quarters, with a chance of promotion.  The chance, said I?  Why, I might say the certainty.  Bounty too, you young dog!  A handful of golden guineas, and pretty girls to court in every town.  List, man, list,” he shouted, clapping me on the shoulder, “and your fortune’s made!”

List!  It had never occurred to me before.  I had never thought, never dreamt of it.  But now that the idea was presented to me, I by no means disliked it.  It was not, however, the flummery of my new acquaintance, who, I need hardly say, was neither more nor less than a sergeant in coloured clothes, assumed, I suppose, for the purpose of taking young fellows like myself unawares,—­I say it was not his balderdash, which, young and raw as I was, I fully perceived, that reconciled me to the