The story of Charles Lorraine's life

Charles Lorraine was a sergeant in Scotch regiment, a brave and pious soldier. He was killed in the American war, and his captain was heard to say, when he followed him to the grave, that he had not left his fellow behind.

After his death, his widow returned to England, with her little son Charles, and took a small cottage at the edge of the Blue-Bell Wood, near Morpeth, in Northumberland.

Who has visited Morpeth, and not become acquainted with the Blue-Bell Wood. I have walked in that wood in the months of May and June, when the whole ground under the trees has been covered with the flowers called the Blue-bell.

At a little distance from this wood, and, if I remember right, separated from it only by a public road, is another extensive coppice, called the Lady's Chapel Wood, through which the river Wensbech rolls its clear and beautiful stream In the centre of this wood are the ruins of an old chapel dedicated to the Virgin Mary, built in those days when the poor blind ignorant people worshipped the images of saints and martyrs. I mention these woods because they were the spots in which little Charles Lorraine spent many of his early days, being often sent there by his pious mother, to read the Bible and learn his hymns and questions.

The widow Lorraine's cottage was a homely but neat dwelling: it stood in a small garden, and a little field appertained to it in which the widow kept a cow.

When persons make a good use of travelling, taking proper notice of what they see in the different countries through which they pass--more especially when they look upon things with a Christian eye, choosing and approving what the Bible chooses and approves, and hating and rejecting what it hates and rejects--though they may have been but ignorant persons when they set out, yet they acquire a degree of knowledge and experience not much less useful to them than book-learning; and with respect to intelligence and general information, are much superior to such of their poor neighbours as have never had similar opportunities.

Soldiers and their wives have many advantages of this kind; but how few there are who profit by them; and how many will go half over the world, and come back again, knowing little more than when they set out, excepting of such things as are vile and abominable!

But this had not been the case with the widow Lorraine. She had been, by the divine blessing, preserved from all those vices into which soldiers' wives too often fall. She was sober and modest; and while in the regiment had deserved and obtained the good word of everyone.

It was to be expected that such a woman would bring up her son in good habits; and so she did for the most part, teaching him his duty to God, and keeping him from bad company; but as he was a remarkably handsome lad, and her only child, she fell into the common fault of indulging him too much, whereby she laid up much store of sorrow both for herself and for him.

And here I think it well to remark, that there is no sin into which even pious parents so frequently fall, as that of undue indulgence to their offspring. Yet it is very plain, that, since the Lord has appointed certain means to be used for the benefit of our children, it is our duty to receive the Divine precepts in simplicity, rejecting all carnal reasonings on this as well as on every other occasion, and sacrificing our inclination to our sense of duty.

The Scripture saith, "Withhold not correction from the child; for if thou beatest him with the rod, he shall not die. Thou shalt beat him with the rod, and shalt deliver his soul from hell."

And again, "The rod and reproof give wisdom: but a child left to himself bringeth his mother to shame. Correct thy son, and he shall give thee rest; yea, he shall give delight unto thy soul."

When Charles Lorraine was seven years of age, his mother sent him to a day-school, kept by one Mr. Green, in Morpeth, and there he learned to read, and write, and cast accounts; also, before and after school hours, his mother made him work in the garden, and tend the cow, and assist her in many of her household matters.

As he grew older, he took much of her out-door work off her bands, and she began to think of taking another field, and enlarging her little farm; for, with such an assistant, she thought she could manage several more cows.

About this time, Charles formed an acquaintance with a very pretty and modest young woman, named Mary Low. She lived in a cottage on the other side of the Wenabech, opposite the Lady's Chapel Wood, where the bank, rising to a considerable height, is richly adorned with coppices and orchards, interspersed with little cottages standing in small fields and gardens. Charles had often seen Mary, and admired her lovely and modest appearance, before he ventured to speak to her; but one day, meeting her as she was passing through the Lady's Chapel, on her return from Bothal, which is a village at the end of the wood, he took occasion to address her.

The Lady's Chapel is a heap of ruins, which once covered an extensive plot of ground, but of which little now remains. The walk from the wood passes directly through the ancient premises, and the old walls are seen on each side of the path intermingled with venerable branches of trees: from hence the pure stream of the Wenabech appears through the openings of the underwood, and again loses itself where the clustering trees afford a deeper shade.

Mary was carrying a heavy basket, with which she seemed much fatigued; and the exercise had given an unusual glow to her cheeks.

Charles begged to be allowed to carry the basket for her to her father's door. She thanked him for his kind offer, but said, that she would not give him the trouble.

He would not, however, be content till he had eased her arm of the basket; and in this manner he began the acquaintance.

When Charles told his mother how much he loved Mary Low, the widow carefully enquired into her character; and finding that the young woman was pious, modest, and industrious, she consented to make her son's wishes known to Mary's parents, and it was soon afterwards agreed on both sides, that Mary should become Charles's wife, as soon as he should have attained the age of twenty-one.

In this manner everything was settled for the happiness of Charles, and he had enjoyed for some months the company of his promised bride, when a sad and sudden change took place in his affairs.

Charles Lorraine was just nineteen years of age when government, being much in want of soldiers, began to raise men for the army of reserve, and young Lorraine was drawn. In the army of reserve the men were balloted for like the militia, but were for limited service; that is, their service was limited both as to time and station--it being lawful to send them over the sea as far as Ireland, but no further; and, after a certain number of years, they were at liberty to return home, if in the meantime they did not volunteer for foreign service.

The widow was spinning at her door when Charles came from Morpeth and told her the news. Her hand fell from the wheel, and she looked at her son; but not one word could she speak for some moments. At length she burst into a violent flood of tears, which brought her some relief.

Her first thought was, whether it would be possible for her to buy off her son; but she found that it would distress her greatly, nay, almost ruin her, to raise the money, and her son persuaded her not to attempt it: "for," said he "I am only to serve for a short time, and they cannot take me out of the country, unless I choose to volunteer; and I am sure, mother, that such a thing as that will never happen, for I would sooner cut off my head than give up my beloved Mary, and you, my kind parent, and my beloved home."

"Charles," said the mother, "I do trust that you would not be persauded to volunteer; but how am I to part with you? and poor Mary will break her heart."

"What for, mother?" asked Charles; "I am going no further than Carlisle: I shall soon be back again; and I cannot see why you should take the matter so much to heart."

In this manner the mother and son discoursed together, and Charles at last persuaded his mother not to try to buy him off. In the first place, indeed, he feared it would distress her; and in the second, he had no manner of objection to see a little of the world before he married; moreover, he thought he should cut a very handsome figure in his uniform coat, for he knew but too well that he was an uncommonly good-looking lad.

It was a dreadful blow to poor Mary, when she was told the news. Nevertheless, she endeavoured to resign herself to the divine will; being, as I before said, a truly pious young woman. Yet she had many reasonable fears respecting Charles, lest, when he got out into the world, he should yield to its snares and temptations; and oftentimes she endeavoured to set these dangers before him in their proper colours; and when he boasted that he should no doubt have power to resist them, and that he was well assured he should soon return to make her his wife, she would repeat to him the words of Scripture--"A wise man feareth, and departeth from evil."

I have said before that the widow Lorraine, though a child of God, had fallen into an error very common to parents. She had made her son of too much consequence in his own eyes, and that, no doubt, because he was of too much importance in hers. She had made too much of an idol of her child, and she now found the ill effects of it; for now that the idea of going from home, and wearing a red coat, was put into his head, he would not be dissuaded from it, nor would he hear of any steps being taken to get him off. Not that he did not love his mother, his Mary, his home, and the fields and woods wherein he had spent his happy and comparatively innocent childhood; but he felt quite sure that he should soon return, and that no one would have the power or cunning to persuade him to volunteer for foreign service. Thus, in consequence of not having been brought up in the knowledge of himself, he rushed into temptations such as few young men have been found able to withstand.

Poor Mary Low came every day to help the widow Lorraine to prepare her son's linen against his journey, and, as they sat together, they often mingled their tears and lamentations. Neither was Charles altogether insensible to their grief; though be could not bring himself to give up the thought of his red coat, especially as, if he determined not to go, the cow must be sold to raise the money, and the prospect of so mortifying an occurrence touched his pride.

At length the time came when it was necessary for young Lorraine to join the regiment to which he was attached. It was then lying at Carlisle.

His mother, on the eve of his departure, tied up his linen in a handkerchief, and, in the same bundle, she placed a little Bible and Prayer-Book, which had belonged to his father. Sergeant Lorraine had carried these precious books many a weary mile in his knapsack, not only in America, but on the Continent of Europe, where he had been with his regiment when a very young man; and, to use his own words, he had often found their contents, after a heavy day's march, like cool waters to a thirsty soul.

When the widow had made up this bundle, she brought it to her son, who was sitting on a bench before the door of the house. Charles had been trying to comfort Mary, whose excessive grief had at length brought him to wish, though too late, that all they possessed had been sold or given up, in order to raise the money to buy him off, rather than that his departure should cause such sorrow to the woman he loved best on earth. He had more than once proposed that they should be married beforehand: but Mary's parents would not hear of this, on account of her extreme youth and very comely appearance, circumstances which they thought might prove a great snare to her, if she were to follow her husband to the regiment.

It was dusk, and the moon was just rising behind the trees, when the widow Lorraine seated herself on the bench by the side of her son, and placing the bundle on her lap, she first wiped away her tears, and then taking courage, began to give him her best advice concerning his conduct in the trying situations upon which be was about to enter.

The widow Lorraine was a pious woman nowithstanding she had shown so much weakness with regard to her son, and the advice which she now gave him was excellent. She did not, as many well-meaning persons would have done in a like case, point out to him the particular dangers of one sin or another, mentioning them by name, but she struck at once at the root of the matter, by saying, "My son, all your good conduct in the world depends on this one thing--whether you seek the divine assistance, or whether you try to walk in your own strength. If you walk in the strength of the Lord, you will walk well and firmly; you will not turn to the right to commit one abomination, nor to the left to commit another; because they that wait upon the Lord shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint. The Lord has promised his assistance to those who trust in him, as it is written in the 29th Psalm, 11th verse, 'The Lord will give strength to his people;' and again, in Isaiah xli. 10, 'Fear thou not, for I am with thee; be not dismayed, for I am thy God; I will strengthen thee, yea, I will help thee, yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.'

"Take warning by me, my son," continued the widow: "I am now made to feel, that I have for some years past been in a very sleepy and dead state with respect to religion. During your blessed father's life I had a faithful friend and monitor, who constantly spurred me on in the heavenly way, whenever I was inclined to loiter or linger: and immediately after his death I had much sorrow and many troubles, which were rendered useful to me. But of late years, since I became more reconciled to the loss of your precious father, and since I began to find in you, my son, much of what I lost in him, I have become more dead to spiritual things; and the Lord, no doubt, has seen it necessary, in his mercy, to bring upon me some of his awakening providences. But why do I talk and think of myself at this time, when you, my children, ought to occupy all my thoughts? O heavenly Father!" added she, raising her eyes to heaven with clasped hands, "bless these, my children, for the sake of Him who died for them? And thou, O Holy Spirit, be thou the guide of my son, whithersoever he may go! And, as to the rest, enable me to say--O, Lord God Almighty, thy will be done!"

When the widow had finished this short prayer, she opened the handkerchief, and showing Charles the Bible and Prayer-book, which had been her husband's, she said--"These books, my son, were your dear father's best friends; it was, by the divine blessing on the study and use of these, that he was happy and respected while he lived, and that he was made triumphant in death.

"The character of a pious soldier," continued the widow, "is a rare one; but I have, in my travels, met with some private soldiers and non-commissioned officers, who would have done credit to any line of life; and I remember hearing my husband read the history of one of our most renowned kings, I think it was King Henry the Fifth, who, when going to battle with the French, caused all his army to kneel dawn, and unite in prayer for the assistance of Him, without whom the strength of man is perfect weakness. And the Lord heard their prayer," proceeded the widow, "and granted them a most wonderful victory over their enemies, who were many more in number than themselves; and this shows that in former times, bad as soldiers were, they had not in general that scoffing and contemptuous spirit which they now have; at any rate they were not ashamed of owning and acknowledging their God in public. I hope and trust, therefore, my dear Charles, that you will not think that a man is the better soldier for seeming to despise religion, or for blaspheming his God, for If there is any one situation in life more than another in which a man has need of the divine guidance and assistance, it is that of a soldier. Whether he be living in quarters, among dissolute and profligate companions--or whether he be called upon to expose his life in the field of battle, he must inevitably fail under the trial, unless God is his shield, and his exceeding great reward."

In this manner the widow discoursed with her son, and thus the sorrowful night wore away. At length, when the dawn began to break, Charles took up his bundle, and taking a sad farewell of his beloved friends, he hastily passed through the garden wicket, and took a path through the wood to the high road, glad that there was no one present to see the tears which, in spite of his efforts to repress them, ran very fast down his cheeks.

When Charles came into the high road, he sat himself down on the low wall of a bridge, and, looking up to heaven, prayed that the Lord would be with him through all his travels, and enable him continually to remember his dear mother's pious counsels. At length he wiped away his tears, gave one sad parting look in the direction of the cottage, the chimney of which might be discerned peeping behind the trees, and comforting himself with the thought that he should soon be at liberty to return to his aged parent and his beloved Mary, he continued his lonely journey.

His road lay through that wild and solitary country, which lies between Morpeth and Hexham; and it being early in the morning, he went several miles without meeting with a single individual. The time of year was autumn, a period when the trees were rendered remarkably beautiful by the various colours of the leaves. Charles had been brought up among woods, and had been accustomed to notice with delight the lovely varieties of nature; but at this time none of these beauties afforded him pleasure. As he went along he thought much of the beloved friends whom he had left, and the pleasant cottage where he had spent the days of his childhood; and he could not help asking himself--"What do I expect to find in the world which is to pay me for the loss of my sweet Mary's smiles, and the tender affection and pious discourses of my beloved mother? But I did not know the worth of either," continued he to himself, "till I had left them; and I shall knew how to value them more than ever when I return. I shall, I trust, come back to them with a good name, a pure conscience, and perhaps, too, not without some military honour; for I shall undoubtedly soon distinguish myself from my comrades; my good education will at once set me above the ordinary lads, which of course make up the mass of the corps; and my person will be a letter of recommendation to me, I am told, let me go where I will. Such young men as I am are acceptable in every regiment; they are glad of such for sergeants. I shall soot be promoted, and, perhaps in a few months, I may be allowed to visit my Mary with a sash and feather."

Thus mining, and indulging in golden dreams, the inexperienced youth continued his journey, till, re-entering the high read, towards noon he reached a little pot-house standing by the way-side.

A very old oak shaded one side of the ale-house, which was the first place of public entertainment that Charles Lorraine had observed since he began his journey; from one of the branches of which oak hung the sign of the house, which represented our good King George, as large as life, with his crown on his head.

At the instant Charles came up, the hostess was bringing out a fresh tankard of ale, and some bread and cheese, to a company of men, who were sitting on a bench under the tree, with a round table before them, on which were some empty mugs and pipes.

The party consisted of a sergeant and corporal of the same regiment to which Charles was to be attached; together with some young recruits whom they were taking from Newcastle to Carlisle.

The sergeant, whose name was Jones, was, to appearance, though some years older, nearly as fine a figure as Charles Lorraine. He was an active, smart, soldier-looking man, and one who was well acquainted with his duty, though he did not always choose to practise what he knew. He had, however, hitherto had the art, or rather the good fortune, to maintain a fair character with his officers, although he was, in fact, one of those hardened characters, of which the army is but too full, who regard neither heaven nor hell. He could drink a great deal without appearing to be in liquor; sad it was one of his greatest pleasures to entice young men to drink to excess, and, when they no longer knew what they were about; he would not scruple to expose them to their superiors, and bring them to punishment, if it served his turn. He was also one of those awful characters who make a jest of religion; and, being naturally sprightly, and not without wit, he used these talents to abash and confound such young and inexperienced lads as had brought either religion or good principle from home with them-- and thus he proved the ruin of many and many a thoughtless youth.

Corporal Bell, who was also of the party under the tree, and belonged to the same company as the sergeant, was a young man, but neither handsome nor clever; yet, as he greatly admired Sergeant Jones, he strove to imitate him in all his bad ways, and, accordingly, his discourse, thought not sprightly like that of the sergeant, was hardly inferior in profaneness and wickedness.

Now Sergeant Jones could assume, when he pleased, a very smooth tongue, and an agreeable manner; and, on the present occasion, seeing so fine a young man as Charles come up, he lost no time in inviting him to the table, and requested him to partake of the entertainment; observing that he should be as welcome as they could make him.

Charles thanked the sergeant; and, observing his uniform, enquired if he did not belong to such a regiment, (naming the number,) now lying at Carlisle. "Yes," replied the sergeant, "I am proud to say I do, and a finer regiment is not in the service. If you have a mind, my lad, for glory, honour, and riches, you cannot do better than strike hands with us, for such a noble young fellow as you are would soon be found worthy of a sash and sword."

"I need not enlist with you," replied Charles, not a little pleased with the last words of the sergeant, which seemed to fall in so agreeably with his late reflections; "for, to tell you the truth, I belong to you already, having been enlisted, whether I would or not, and I am now on my way to the regiment."

The sergeant arose; and, shaking Charles heartily by the hand, said, "Upon my soul, my brave lad, I am glad to hear that you are already one of us. It will save me a great deal of trouble, for the moment I saw you I was resolved you should list. I would never have suffered such a one as you to slip through my fingers. Now sit you down, you are henceforth welcome to what our table offers. We are all comrades; and what's to hinder, but that we should all trudge it together to Carlisle?"

Charles took a seat, scarcely knowing whether he liked or disliked his new companions; for he found, that while their heartiness pleased him, certain freedoms in their speech, to which he had not been accustomed, displeased him as much.

The young recruits who had accompanied the sergeant from Newcastle, were of a different description from Charles, being awkward, ragged, country lads, for whom the non-commissioned officers seemed to feel little respect. But Sergeant Jones soon discovered, from Charles Lorraine's manner and his neat dress, that he was much superior to the generality of young men who enter as private soldiers into the army. He foresaw, also, that if he behaved prudently, be would soon rise to his own rank, at least, in the regiment; and he accordingly thought it right to pay him much attention. He offered him the pot of ale as he received it from the hostess, pushed the bread and cheese towards him, and asked him if he would choose a pipe.

The party sat as much as an hour under the tree after Charles Lorraine joined them; the sergeant, during this time, answering such questions about the regiment as Charles thought proper to put to him. At length the commander of the little party rising, said, "Come, lads, we must be thinking of our journey. But where are you all?" he added, looking round him. "Where's John Hill?"

Now till this moment everything had gone on smoothly; and if some strange expressions had escaped the mouths of the sergeant and the corporal, they had been all in high good humour; but when the non-commissioned officers missed the recruit, and he did not answer to the first call, the sergeant began to swear at the corporal, and the corporal to curse the poor lad (who now appeared) in a manner so dreadful, that Charles once and again vowed to himself, that if ever he got free from such company, he would never expose himself to a like annoyance.

When the non-commissioned officers had spent their rage upon the young offender, who, though he made little reply, looked as if he would be even with them if he dared, they proceeded on their journey.

The more Charles saw of Sergeant Jones, the more he found reason to dislike him; insomuch, that, although the sergeant seemed desirous of seeking his friendship, he choose rather to walk with any one of the recruits than with him. Sergeant Jones could not but observe this shyness on the part of young Lorraine; but, considering that it arose from bashfulness, he gave himself no further anxiety about it.

The party had not gone far from the place where they had stopped to refresh themselves, before they came to a rising ground; and Charles, turning to look back upon the scenery behind him, saw, far distant, what he believed to be some high grounds near Morpeth; and looking a little longer, he could descry the dear woods where he had spent so many happy days, and where his mother and his lovely Mary were now, perhaps, weeping for him. The experience he had already had of the style of conversation and the manners which he was likely to meet with in his new line of life, had quite changed his opinion with respect to it; and he wished, O how ardently! that he had allowed his mother to sell his cow, her furniture, or whatever else she could have spared, in order to have saved him from the necessity of leaving his home and his friends.

Charles Lorraine stood contemplating this scene, till his comrades called to him from a considerable distance. He then silently rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, and hastened with a sad heart after the rest of the party, who were now gone down the other side of the hill. They then proceeded together towards the town of Hexham, which place they reached before dark.

They went to a small inn in that town, and, having had their supper, were all put to sleep in one room; but, as there were only three beds for the whole company, the young soldier chose rather to sleep by himself on the floor, than to be crowded into one bed with two or three recruits; therefore, choosing a corner, and putting his bundle under his head for a pillow, he slept very soundly on the whole, though some sad dreams, which brought back the scenes he had left, somewhat disturbed his repose.

On the third day from their leaving Morpeth, after a long and weary march over some wild black heaths near the Roman wall, they came to the pleasant little town of Brampton, in Cumberland.

At this place, as they were passing the door of a small inn near the entrance of the town, a woman with a very red face put her head out of the kitchen window, and called Sergeant Jones with a voice so loud, that she might have been distinctly heard at the other end of the street.

This woman wore a greatcoat with a very long waist, a man's beaver hat, and large gilt ear-rings with drops, but no cap; exhibiting a figure which filled Charles Lorraine with disgust and amazement.

"Sergeant Jones! I say, Sergeant Jones!" she shouted, "if you are for good quarters, turn in here; the tap is excellent, and only five-pence a quart."

The sergeant turned short round, and, looking hard at the woman for a moment, he said, "What, Mrs. Williams! what wind brought you to Brampton?"

"No matter," she replied; "only come in here, and I promise you living fit for a king."

"Well, but when do you go back to the regiment, Mrs. Williams?" asked Sergeant Jones; "and where is Sergeant Williams!"

"My man's at Carlisle," she answered, "and I hope to be with him to-morrow."

"But you have not told me yet what wind blew you here, Mrs. Williams?" said the sergeant, laughing.

"I have told you as much as concerns you, Sergeant Jones," returned Mrs. Williams; "and you'll hear no more, I promise you."

While this discourse was passing between the sergeant and Mrs. Williams, the son of the latter, a boy about six years old, had climbed upon a dresser on which Mrs. Williams was leaning to talk to those without, and was looking at the sergeant and his companions over his mother's shoulders: she pushed him back several times with her elbow, but he returned as often to his station. At length, however, the mother being thoroughly provoked by the boy's importunity, turned round in a passion, took the child by the arm, and swinging him off the dresser, laid him prostrate on the floor.

The boy screamed so loudly that the hostess came running into the kitchen, and began to scold him, saying, that there was not such another ill-conditioned bairn in all the three kingdoms. Mrs. Williams was not the person to stand quietly by and hear her own flesh and blood (as she called her child) abused by any one. She therefore turned furiously upon the hostess, and said that neither man nor woman had a right to cross her child but herself. Here a violent altercation ensued between the two women, during which they used such language as Charles Lorraine had never before heard, and now but half understood.

"O, my home, my home--my happy, happy home!" said he to himself, as he stood at the door of the house; "if ever I return to my beloved home, I never, never more will leave it."

The women would no doubt have carried their quarrel to a great length, having already begun to exchange blows, had not the host appeared, when both the combatants became quiet; and the landlord invited Sergeant Jones and his companions to come in.

When he had brought them into the kitchen, he placed them at a long oaken table, and set before them such provisions as the house afforded, making them very welcome; while the sergeant insisted that the landlord himself should sit down and make one of the company. Mrs. Williams did not wait for an invitation. Each man having taken a pint of excellent beer, the sergeant called for spirits; and Charles would have been surprised at seeing Mrs. Williams toss off a whole glass of gin without taking breath, had not his mother often told him that such things were customary among soldiers' wives.

In a short time, those of the company who were drinking the liquor began to be merry, and to press the rest to follow their example. Some of the lads yielded to the temptation; but Charles, having paid for what he had taken, rose up and walked into the street.

"And are these, and such as these," said he, as he walked sorrowfully along, he knew not whether--"are these to be my companions I--must I exchange the society of my mother and my beloved Mary for such women as this Mrs. Williams? Oh, folly! oh, madness! Why did I not suffer any hardship rather than expose myself to company like this?"

Charles wandered along the street, lost in thought, till he came out again into the country on the Northumberland side. Not far from the road, on his left, was a small round hill crowned with fir trees. He turned towards this eminence, and going up the gentle ascent, soon entered under the trees: he then walked round to the north side of the hill, and a beautiful prospect opening to his view, he there sat down to indulge his sorrowful meditations. He was aware that he was not far from the borders of Scotland, and he; imagined that he now beheld, for the first time, that land which had given birth to his father.

"And my father," said he to himself, "was a soldier, and he was a pious man--a man of pure morals, and one from whose lips proceeded no evil communication. Soldiers, then, may be pious and holy; and such men may be respected, for my father was respected. O, that I might be enabled to tread in his steps, and constantly walk worthy of such a parent!"

Charles remained so long reflecting on his new situation, that the evening was far advanced when he returned to his quarters; he found several of his companions so overcome with liquor, that they were scarcely able to stagger to the room which the landlord had provided for them.

To this apartment Charles was obliged to accompany them; but the feelings which he experienced, when he saw his comrades lying round him in a state of intoxication, were not altogether those of a Christian. He had himself resisted the efforts which had been made to lead him to drink; and he felt proud of his conquest over temptation; he therefore looked on those around him with feelings of contempt and derision; and, like the Pharisee described in the parable, was ready to say, "I thank God that I am not as these men."

But such are not the feelings we ought to have, when we see a fellow-creature fall into sin. It was not with contempt or derision that our Lord looked down from heaven on the children of men; it was not from feelings of this kind that Christ was induced to bear our sins and carry our sorrows. True Christianity can have no fellowship with emotions of contempt.

But to return to my story. The next day, Charles and his companions, rising early, proceeded on their march, and reached Carlisle by noon.

There being no barracks at Carlisle, Charles was quartered at a small ale-house near the Scotch Gate.

The next morning, when the new recruits, and young Lorraine with them, were brought to be inspected, Charles heard one of the officers present whisper to another--"We have not such a lad as this in the regiment; he has the air of a prince." It is not to be supposed that the young soldier could soon forget such a compliment as this from his superiors; and the same evening, while his mind was still full of it, as he was strolling under the walls of the old castle (for there is a very flue old castle at Carlisle), he met several officers of the regiment walking with some young ladies; and as he stopped to salute his officers, he heard some words dropped, by which he could gather that his handsome looks had been again noticed and approved.

The next day he got his regimental coat, and began to learn his duty. When he first put on his uniform, he took occasion to look at his figure in a large glass, which hung in his landlady's parlour, and having viewed himself on all sides, he felt quite satisfied with his appearance.

The Scripture saith, "Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall." Charles Lorraine's situation was a difficult one; but had he walked in the strength of the Lord, he would assuredly have been safely conducted through all his trials. As it was, how ever, he was vain and self-confident, and perhaps it was needful that he should be left to himself for a while, in order that he might be made sensible of the weakness and sinfulness of his nature: and, being thus left, he soon yielded to the pressure of circumstances. He had now no room to himself, and little time that he could call his own, for his lodging at night was in a garret, with three or four other young men, and he was more than half ashamed of being seen to pray or to read his Bible.

For a few days he used to watch his opportunity of getting up to pray when his comrades were asleep; but soon finding the inconvenience of this plan, as some of the young men would be talking for a considerable time before sleep overtook them, he henceforward contented himself with saying his prayers in bed. But his thoughts were soon cut off by sleep, or disturbed by the idle talk which was going forward in other parts of the room: so that, after a while, he dropped his prayers entirely. And in the morning he found less opportunity even than at night: for he had drills and parades to attend, and his accoutrements to clean once or twice a day; and therefore he began to fancy that he had no time to read his Bible or to pray: and thus he quieted his conscience under the entire neglect of his religious duties.

But although his captain was strict, and kept him properly to his duty, yet, had he chosen, he might have found time and opportunity enough to perform all these religious exercises. Indeed, with respect to reading the Holy Scriptures, scarcely a day passed in which he did not waste as much time in talking and sauntering in the street as would have served, not for reading one, but many chapters in the Bible; and few were the occasions on which, had he chosen, he might not have been engaged in mental prayer.

The true state of the case, however, was this--that Charles Lorraine had not hitherto been impressed with the real importance of religion. He had been brought up in pious and moral habits, and had been thence led to believe himself a renewed character: nevertheless he had never given any evidence of real conversion, which invariably shows itself in deep humility, a strong sense of sin, and a fear of offending God. Of these qualities we have as yet seen nothing in Charles Lorraine; and, therefore, there will be less occasion for surprise, if we find that he fell into those snares which were laid for him by the world and his evil companions; since it is said in Scripture--" The fear of man bringeth a snare; but whoso putteth his trust in the Lord shall be safe."

It was on the Queen's birth-day, some weeks after his arrival at the regiment, that Charles Lorraine first stood in the ranks on parade, where he performed so well that he obtained the highest praise from his officers; a circumstance which pleased him not a little, and considerably tended to raise his spirits.

The Queen's birthday was to be made a great day among the soldiers at Carlisle. In the forenoon, the regiment was marched into the Castle yard with the band playing, and, at the same time, the great guns of the Castle were fired at due intervals.

After parade, the men were dismissed for the day, and a double allowance of beer was given to each; moreover, it was settled that that day and the next were to be set aside for volunteering, when such as chose it should be encouraged to volunteer for the King's service from the army of reserve; and the volunteering was to begin as soon as parade was over.

A very handsome bounty also was promised to such as volunteered, part of which was to be paid down on the spot.

While the world is in its present state, and until that time when the kingdom of Christ shall prevail on earth, and the sword be converted into the ploughshare, and the spear into the pruning-hook, it will be necessary that government should be provided with armed men, and that some persons should devote their lives to the service of their country: wherefore it is allowed, by holy persons in general, that a soldier's is a lawful calling, and that a Christian may follow it without hurt to his conscience. In those days, therefore, when all Europe was at war, it was desirable that many should volunteer for the King's service. Charles Lorraine, however, had entered into an engagement with his mother, and with the parents of his betrothed wife, that he would not volunteer, so that what would have been laudable and commendable in another young man, not similarly circumstanced, was not at all proper in his particular case, and of this he was well aware; neither did his desires draw him that way.

There was no necessity for the young man's making this opinion known to his companions in so many words, for his drawing off when others went up to volunteer was sufficiently indicative of his sentiments. As soon, however, as parade was dismissed, Sergeant Jones and Sergeant Williams came up to him in the Castle-yard, and Sergeant Jones, taking him by the hand, said, "Well, my brave lad, I will make no doubt but that you are for volunteering; if there ever was a young man cut out to do honour to his Majesty's service, it is you, my lad."

"I do not know what I am cut out for," replied Charles; "but this I know, that I have no mind for volunteering."

"I am very sorry for it," returned Sergeant Jones, "but I'll say no more; I am not for pressing any man to do a thing contrary to his inclination, I am for letting all sides have fair play. However, if you won't volunteer, you will not refuse to eat a bit of supper with me to-night, my lad? I have a friend or two at the Thistle, and shall be glad of your company."

Charles bowed, and thanked the sergeant, and then walked off.

The two non-commissioned officers winked at each other as young Lorraine turned his back; and Sergeant Jones hummed a bit of the tune of Long live the King, till Charles was out of hearing. Then, turning to Sergeant Williams, he said, "He is a cunning one, but we shall be up to him."

"A few glasses of grog," replied Sergeant Williams, "and I'll be bound he'll volunteer as fast as you'd have him."

Corporal Bell, who had been standing near enough to see and hear all that had passed, here put in his opinion, which was, that they would find young Lorraine a tough hand.

"What do you mean?" asked Sergeant Jones, tartly.

"What do I mean?" repeated the corporal, "why, that you don't get young Lorraine to volunteer."

"I'll lay you a crown I do," said the sergeant.

"Done!" replied the corporal; "for I think I know the lad's mind better than you do."

"What's that to do with it?" said the sergeant.

"What's that to do with it?" retorted the corporal, "why, you don't expect to make him volunteer against his will, surely?"

"Don't I?" answered the sergeant; "that remains to be proved."

"A crown, you say, is to be the money, sergeant?" returned the corporal.

"Ay, a silver crown, to be paid next 24th," rejoined the other.

"Done!" exclaimed the corporal, "and Sergeant Williams to be witness."

"Yes," observed Sergeant Williams, "I am witness. But mind, corporal, you are not to peach this matter to young Lorraine; that won't be fair."

"Do you take me for a woman, sergeant, that I can't hold my tongue?" asked Corporal Bell; "or that I should behave without honour in the matter?"

The affair being thus arranged between the two sergeants and the corporal, they parted.

In the evening, Charles Lorraine went to the Thistle, where he found Sergeant Jones, Sergeant Williams, and a non-commissioned officer of the grenadiers, with several young men of the privates, seated by a bright fire, and a table before them with their pipes and cans, waiting till the landlady should set out the supper.

"Come, comrade," said Sergeant Jones, making room for Charles to take his seat by his side, "you are late, my lad." The sergeant then handed a full tankard to the young soldier, who, having bowed to the company, just touched the cup with his lips, and set it down.

"Does not the tap suit you, my lad?" enquired Sergeant Williams, "there is not such another to my mind in all Carlisle."

"It cannot be better," answered Charles, "but I am more for eating than drinking just at this present time."

Sergeant Williams gave a side look at Sergeant Jones, but neither of them spoke.

In a few minutes the landlady appeared, bearing in a roasted leg of pork, stuffed with onions, which she set smoking upon the table; this, with a large dish of potatoes, and a hot apple-pie, formed the repast.

The party instantly gathered round the table, and set to with such appetite, that, in a very short time, very little of the pork, and none of the apple-pie, remained.

"Well, sergeant," observed one of the young soldiers, speaking in the name of the rest, "we have to thank you for as good a supper as we ever partook of in our lives."

"All I can say, my lads," replied the sergeant, "is that you are heartily welcome; and now, landlady, for a draught of ale, and a bit of cheese to relish it."

The ale was brought in, and handed round several times; after which the cloth was removed, and the sergeant called for a bottle of liquor, with hot water and sugar, and a few lemons.

Now, as scenes of this kind cannot be very agreeable to sober persons, I shall not enter into any particular description of what passed after supper. Suffice it to say, that the non-commissioned officers made several of the young lads very tipsy; and while they were under the power of the liquor, they persuaded them to volunteer: but Charles Lorraine was not to be decoyed into the same trap, though all the three sergeants set their wits at him. He perceived their intention, and accordingly contrived to escape from their company, and to make the best of his way to his quarters, where he arrived full of self satisfaction, from the thought of having acquitted himself so well.

And here I shall stop to make this remark: If any man has, through God's assistance, escaped any temptation, instead of triumphing, and taking credit to himself on the occasion, he ought to give the glory to God, and to him only; for in the Lord only is his strength. But this was a point in which poor Charles Lorraine failed: he cried, "Well done! well done!" before the battle was half over, and thus was he put off his guard, through an overweening conceit of his own strength; a case very common to those who are unacquainted with the exceeding sinfulness of their own hearts, not knowing that "the heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked."

The next morning, the young men who had volunteered the night before, went to their officers, were sworn in, and received their bounty; the sergeants, in the mean while, taking care to ply them with liquor, so that they were not in a capacity of knowing what they were doing till all was over, and it was too late.

I have before remarked that it is necessary, in the present state of the world, that some persons should devote their lives to the service of their king and country; and we have reason to think that there are few characters more honourable and more pleasing in the sight of God than a pious soldier. Yet, as I before intimated, what is right in one man's case may be wrong in another's; and he that has aged parents depending on him, or a wife or children, probably serves his king and country best by staying at home, and taking care of them; while he who is single and free may act more properly, in certain circumstances, by going abroad to fight for his king and country; but, at any rate, a man cannot be fit to judge of what is expedient in a case of this kind, when his head is inflamed with fiery liquors.

The next morning after the supper, Sergeant Jones was talking to Sergeant Williams about his wager, and saying he did not know what he should do, for he feared he should lose it; "and that," said he, "I would not should happen for five times its value; for it would be such a joke against me, you know, to have it said of me, that I was baffled by such a young hand as Lorraine."

"The lad is so sober," replied Sergeant Williams, "we shall never do anything with him while he continues so: if we once could get him to drink, our business would be done."

"What, you can't get the young man to drink!" said Mrs. Williams, who was busy at a washing-tub, in one corner of the room. "How does that happen?" added she, as she shook the suds from her hands, and wiped them with her apron. "Not get the lad to drink!--old soldiers as you are, you may well be ashamed of yourselves. Come, now, leave the matter to me, and I promise you I'll get him to take so much to-night, that ho will not know whether he volunteers or not; and when ho is in for it, you must see and keep him to it till he is sworn, and has taken his bounty."

The two non-commissioned officers laughed, and Sergeant Williams said, "Let my wife alone, she knows what she is about-- she is a rare one."

Now the day on which this conversation took place, being the day after the queen's birth-day, was also a holiday for the soldiers, as I said before; and the whole regiment was scattered about the town, some sauntering in the streets, and others carousing in the public-houses.

Mrs. Williams, being quite full of what she had undertaken, returned no more to her washing-tin that day; but dressing herself in her best, and putting on a second-hand yellow satin bonnet, of which she had lately become possessed, she took another woman of the regiment with her, of tie name of Smith, and went out under pretence of a walk; but, in truth, to see if she could meet with young Lorraine. She had just got into the market-place, when she saw the young man coming up the street. She stood at a butcher's stall, pretending to be cheapening meat, till he came up to her, and then, turning short round upon him, she affected to be surprised, and said, "Is that you, Lorraine? why I hardly knew you. I have scarce seen you since we were at Brampton. Why, surely you are grown! and then the uniform, what a change it makes in a man! why your own mother would not know you. Well, well, now I don't wonder, now I see you again, what I heard yesterday: though I must say it surprised me at the time, I am sure it did; for such things are not said of every soldier lad."

"What did you hear yesterday concerning me, Mrs. Williams?" enquired Charles.

"Why sure you don't expect me to tell you," returned Mrs. Williams, "to make you prouder that you are? No, no, truly; I see you are well enough pleased with yourself already, without my telling you what the gentlefolks said of you, when you were on parade t'other day."

"The gentlefolks!" repeated Chares, blushing; "what should such folks say of me? Why, Mrs. Williams," he added, "you know that I am as yet but a private soldier, whatever I may hereafter come to."

"True," replied Mrs. Williams; "but some persons can distinguish merit, though in the humblest station."

"Nay, but, Mrs. Williams," returned Charles, "do let me hear all about it."

Very fine, indeed!" exclaimed she; "and you would have me to repeat gentlefolks' names in the open streets! sure I know better than that."

Mrs. Williams had attacked the young man on his weakest side, namely, his vanity, and had obtained an advantage of which she was presently made aware by the anxiety he expressed to hear what she had to say; however, she played with his curiosity some time longer; and at length, pretending to be overcome with his importunity, she said, "Since you are so mighty desirous to hear what I have to say, I believe I must indulge you; you shall come and take a cup of tea this evening with me and Mrs. Smith, and I will tell you all about it; my husband will be glad to see you, I am very sure."

In this manner she tempted the young man; and, as it was an idle day, he was induced to accept her invitation, and followed her to her quarters. Thus Charles Lorraine, having neglected his religious duties, easily fell into the snare laid for him by this woman, whereas, had he listened to the Scripture, he might have been safe; "for the commandment is a lamp, and the law is light; and reproofs of instruction are the way of life: to keep thee from the evil woman, from the flattery of the tongue of a strange woman."

Mrs. Williams and her husband occupied a small back room in a little public-house, called the Saracen's Head; in one corner of the room was a bed, in another the washing-tub before mentioned; and before the fire-place, which occupied a third corner, was a three-legged table, on which Mrs. Williams presently set the tea things, causing Charles and Mrs. Smith to take their seats by the fire.

"My man is not in yet," remarked Mrs. Williams, as she bustled about the room, "but I expect him presently, and then he will be able to tell you more than I can do of the business."

"What business?" asked Charles, "do explain yourself, Mrs. Williams."

"So I will," she rejoined, sitting down at the table, and rattling the cups and saucers, "but not till you have had a cup of tea." So saying, she prepared the refreshing beverage, and soon presented Charles with a dish of tea, into which she had very carefully conveyed a quantity of brandy.

Charles received the cup, and hastily swallowing its contents, did not perceive the taste of the brandy till he had almost taken the whole; when, setting it down, he said, "Why, Mrs. Williams, what is this? do you put brandy in your tea?"

"Does it taste of brandy?" asked she: "I did not perceive it; but like as not, for I keep my husband's brandy-and-water hot by the fire at times in the tea-pot."

"It must be very strong brandy-and-water indeed," remarked Charles, laughing and shaking his head, "to flavour the tea-pot so much."

"It won't hurt," observed Mrs. Williams, carelessly; "some folks choose brandy in their tea; but I am sorry that I have not another tea-pot, as the tea does not seem agreeable to you. Mayhap, the next cup may be more to your liking."

She then, while preparing another dram for young Lorraine, under the shape of a dish of tea, proceeded to fabricate some ridiculous tale, partly true, and partly of her own invention, relative to certain remarks made upon his fine figure when standing in the ranks: and while she thus amused his vanity, she prevailed upon him to take a second draught of the intoxicating liquor whisk she had prepared.

The artful woman was soon aware of the effect of the brandy on the young man, by the unsteadiness of his eye, and the mixed colour in his cheek, and she then ventured to ply him more openly with flattery; yet, while she continued to laugh and talk, seemingly with the utmost carelessness, she still invariably pursued her object, which was to lead him to drink until he should have lost all self-command. However, being unable to persuade him to take more tea, she presently removed the tea-pot, and set the brandy bottle in its place and mixing three pints of hot brandy and water, with sugar, she took one herself, gave the other to Mrs. Smith, and insisted on young Lorraine taking the third. Charles, indeed, at first, made some difficulty in accepting it; yet his resolution, having no other foundation than his own strength, presently gave way, as may be expected of all human wisdom and discretion in a season of trial.

After Mrs. Williams had prevailed thus far, it was no hard matter for her to lead the poor young man yet further. When Charles had emptied his pint, she filled it again, and that more than once or twice, slyly plying him all the time with flatteries; and when she found that he had taken as much as she wished, she caused her husband and Sergeant Jones to be called in, and they completed the work which she had so successfully begun; and, before the morning drum, persuaded young Lorraine to volunteer.

To make the story short, Charles, being still stupid in consequence of the liquor he had taken, was led at the usual time to be sworn in for his Majesty's service, and to receive his bounty; after which, the two non-commissioned officers left him to repent at his leisure.

In this manner Sergeant Jones and Sergeant Williams won their wager, and young Lorraine was enlisted for life.

As soon as the effect of the liquor was gone off, and Charles was able to think coolly of what he had done, he began to lament his folly most sorely, but all in vain: he thought of his poor old mother and dear Mary, and his pleasant and peaceful cottage; together with the rivers, woods, and hills, which had been around him in childhood, and which he might perhaps never more behold; and he could scarcely refrain from cursing that vanity which had led him to hearken to the deceitful tongue of Mrs. Williams.

He immediately wrote to his mother and his beloved Mary, sent them his bounty, and earnestly implored the latter to come to him, and join her fate with his.

Who can describe the sufferings of the Widow Lorraine, and of poor Mary, when they heard what Charles had been induced to do! It was an affliction they had not expected. Yet Mary would no doubt have granted his earnest request, had not her parents forbidden it. She was, however, permitted to send him a letter, in which she declared that, for his sake, she would remain single to her dying day.

The widow's letter to her son contained much pious advice; but it was in many places so blotted with tears, that Charles could not read it without difficulty. Upon the whole, these communications brought poor Charles little comfort.

Soon after the arrival of these letters, Charles Lorraine was made a corporal; and nearly at the same time the regiment was marched to the sea-side, shipped on board transports, and sent to Portsmouth.

The men landed at Portsmouth, and marched to Hilsea barracks, which was a little way out of the town. Here young Lorraine became a sergeant, and soon afterwards embarked with his company on board an East-Indiaman, the other parts of the regiment being placed in various other vessels, and in the beginning of the month of April they sailed for the East Indies.

When first under weigh, the motion of the ship did not make Charles sick as it does most landsmen, but it affected him with a sadness which he could not overcome. While sailing through the Needles, he looked towards the shores of England, which he was leaving perhaps for ever, and he could not but think of the different views with which he had met the months of the last spring. "I was then," said he, "living with my beloved mother, in the place where I had spent my childhood; I then daily enjoyed the company of my beautiful and modest Mary--I then took pleasure in my Bible--I joined in singing the praises of my God at our morning and evening prayers--and I toned continually to the holy conversation of my mother. But now--now, how are my prospects changed! I am separated by many hundreds of miles from my home, and am condemned to spend my weary days among profane and vicious persons, and my miserable nights in the hold of a ship." In this manner, Charles Lorraine lamented himself as the ship passed through the Needles; while all around him suggested such feelings of discomfort and wretchedness, as those only can conceive who have been in similar circumstances.

In his short voyage from the North to Portsmouth, Charles had had sufficient experience of what it was to be confined in one small space, from which there is no escape, along with profligate men, and coarse, if not vicious, women; to sleep in a crowded lower deck, in company with numbers of these miserable characters, without even the comfort of light and air, and to lounge away weary and hopeless days on deck in the same society, being exposed to hear the vilest language, and often to witness the grossest conduct. There was no one on board who could inform Charles from experience, that even in situations of this kind, and indeed worse, if worse can be imagined, religion has power to impart a degree of happiness and peace which it passeth the understandings of unconverted men to conceive; neither was there any one in the ship who would have delighted to lead this unhappy young man to the Cross of Christ; or who could have comforted him by the information, that the Almighty, in proportion as he withdraws outward consolations from his people, generally imparts to them such spiritual comfort as the world cannot give. Although there were several pious persons in the regiment, yet they happened not to be in the company to which Charles Lorraine was attached; and as they were retired and despised individuals, he had never heard them spoken of, except in terms of such contempt as had not induced him to seek their society.

Thus, being still ignorant of the comforts which religion can impart, he was left without consolation to meditate upon his separation from his friends and country, and to look forward to four or five months of the utmost misery.

The last we heard of Charles Lorraine was, that he was sitting, full of sad and melancholy thoughts, on the forecastle of the East-Indiaman, just after she got under weigh. It happened that Charles was not subject to sea-sickness; he had therefore better opportunity than others for gazing on the trees, the buildings, and the shores, of Old England, as they became more and more distant. He sat in the same place from morning till dinner-time, during which period he saw the Isle of Wight so near, that he could count the trees on shore, and trace the windings of the lanes and hedges. The Needles next caught his attention; these are sharp and pointed rocks which rise out of the sea, not far from the Isle of Wight, and between which the Indiamen were to pass;--he gazed at these, till they were no longer to be seen. The weather was now become hazy: he saw the land no longer; he heard nothing but the sounding waves, and the cries of the sailors as they tightened the rigging. Small rain at length began to fall, and the air felt sharp and cold. So Charles arose, thinking he would seek some place of shelter, but, recollecting that there was no situation in the ship, to which he was entitled to go for protection, excepting the orlop-deck, where he should be exposed to every kind of horrible smell and brutal language, and where even the comfort of day-light would be almost wholly shut out, he sat down again, with feelings truly and thoroughly miserable.

Many persons, who do not understand the nature of true religion, and its influence upon the heart, are apt to fancy, when they are in low spirits, and disgusted with things about them, that they are under the influence of pious feeling--and this was Charles Lorraine's mistake on the present occasion: he felt very unhappy, and therefore imagined that what he then experienced was that same pious feeling by which, as he had been told, his father had often been lifted up above all the snares and temptations of this wicked world. But, as I before hinted, the effects of true religion and of mere unhappiness, are quite different: for whereas the latter is a cause of repining and disquietude, true religion makes a man placid and passive under affliction. Up to this period, however, poor Charles Lorraine had never felt the religion of the heart, though his mother had taken care that he should possess that of the head; and it was therefore little to be wondered at if he mistook his low and dejected frame of mind for a gracious impression from above.

While Charles was thus meditating sorrowfully on his grievances he was called to dinner; and after dinner, happening to fall into discourse with another sergeant and the ship's steward, he accepted an invitation to the steward's berth, where he finished the evening in drinking grog, smoking, and hearkening to seafaring songs; and in this manner the riotous mirth of the evening formed a sad sequel to the deep melancholy of the morning.

The next and the following day on board ship were spent by young Lorraine very much like the first: the mornings were wasted in sorrowful reflections, mingled with ineffectual resolutions to lead a better life, and the evenings were given up to drinking grog, and listening to light discourse, and idle jests and songs. The serious thoughts and good resolutions of the poor young man, however, became daily fewer and weaker; and after a while, instead of seeking to be alone and quiet in a morning, or endeavouring to find occasion to read his Bible, (for which he might have had abundant opportunity during the voyage,) he engaged himself to assist the steward in waiting in the cuddy, (which is the name of the dining-room for the higher orders of passengers). Thus he cut himself off from all opportunity of improvement;--for the steward and his people, being men of light and profligate character, the discourse in the berth appointed them was almost altogether compounded of oaths and profaneness.

A voyage from England to the East Indies is seldom made by a large fleet in less than five months; and these were five sad months for poor Charles Lorraine, who all that time was passing from bad to worse and worse; insomuch that before the ship arrived at the Indian shores, he could talk, drink, and swear, with as much readiness as any man on board. Oh! could his mother have seen him then, she would hardly have known him to be her child.

When at home, he had been looked upon as religious:--his mother had believed him to be so, he had fancied himself so, his neighbours also had thought him so; but the religion of this young man had begun at the wrong end--it had commenced in pride, conceit, and self-confidence; and it was therefore necessary that he should be humbled, and brought low, in order that he might know his own weakness, and his entire insufficiency to do well, without Divine assistance.

Nothing particular happened to the fleet during the voyage, excepting a violent storm off the Cape, by which the ships were driven out of their course considerably towards the south-west, and the crews were compelled to endure considerable hardships; while the Lord displayed the wonders of his power, and exhibited such instances of his awful majesty, as ought to have made every careless sinner on board tremble.

For several days the skies were entirely covered with dark and angry clouds, neither-did the sun or stars appear during all that time; while the winds and thunders roared, and the lightnings flashed from one side of the heavens to the other, the blue meteors playing on the summits of the masts. These awful circumstances brought the apprehension of death to young Lorraine, attended with many bitter recollections; but his evil companions were near at hand to supply him with grog, whenever they observed any symptoms of serious reflection about him: and thus these awful providences were rendered, in a great measure, useless to this young yet hardened sinner.

It pleased the Lord that no lives were lost during this storm; and though it occasioned some delay, the fleet, which was bound for Bengal, was only five months and one day from the time that it sailed from Portsmouth, before it came to anchor in Diamond Harbour.

From Diamond Harbour, which is in one of the mouths of the great river Ganges, the regiment went up in boats to the place of its destination, and was stationed immediately in Fort William, which is a noble fortification, near the town of Calcutta.

Fort William is built of white stone, and contains several squares, adorned with gravel walks, and rows of trees. The soldiers' barracks in this fort are exceedingly handsome; and in this place Europeans are attended by black servants, so that every private soldier, as soon as he sets his foot in India, is, in some respects, a fine gentleman, compared with what he was in Europe; notwithstanding which, he has much, very much, to suffer from the heat of the climate, the musquitos and other troublesome insects, and also from various diseases prevalent in that hot country. Charles Lorraine was at first much pleased with this new station, and felt not a little glad to be set free from the hold of the ship; he also had many indulgences as a sergeant, which, as a private soldier, he would not have been permitted to enjoy.

The regiment remained at Fort William for some months, during which time Charles made himself better acquainted with his duties as a sergeant; and while he was there, he was made a pay-sergeant--his education being superior to that of most men in the regiment.

Money now came in very fast, and young Lorraine, by his smart and gallant appearance, and his regularity in the duties of his profession, won, to a great degree, the approbation of his superiors; nevertheless, he was not happy, inasmuch as his private life was not shaped according to what he knew to be agreeable to the will of God, and Charles had been made too well acquainted with his religious duties to feel even tolerably content under the continued breach of them. Of this breach he had now been guilty for a long time: for not only since his arrival in India, but even from the commencement of the voyage, he had almost entirely neglected the very outward forms of religion; his Bible had actually remained shut up in his knapsack ever since he had left the north; he had fallen by rapid degrees into almost every kind of open profligacy; and he was now, as I before remarked, hastily descending from bad to worse.

While he was in this situation he happened one day, in walking through the barrack belonging to another company, to remark three or four private soldiers and a corporal, who were gathered together in a corner berth, listening to a person who was reading aloud. The party was no less employed with their hands than with their heads; some being occupied in cleaning different parts of their accoutrements, and some sewing with a needle and thread: all of them, however, looked serious, calm and peaceful. Young Lorraine stopped for a moment before the berth, fixed, as it were, to the place--for the book they were reading was the Bible; and the quiet and virtuous manner in which these poor men were spending their time filled him with shame and remorse. While he stood looking upon them, he heard a loud peal of laughter not far from him; and turning round, saw Sergeant Jones and Corporal Bell sitting with other men in an opposite berth, who were regaling themselves with rum and water. "Why, Lorraine," exclaimed Sergeant Jones, "you look all amazement. Those are the Methodists, who came out in the Glory. Did you never hear of them?"

"Methodists!" repeated Charles, "what do you mean?"

"Why, the godly folk," replied Sergeant Jones, "who are wiser and better than all the world besides. Did you never hear of them before?"

"No," answered Charles, "I did not know we had any such persons in the regiment."

"Well, I wonder at that," replied Sergeant Jones; "but no matter; leave then now and come and take a glass with Corporal Bell and me; and leave those fools," added he with heightened colour, "leave them to their folly."

Young Lorraine accepted the Sergeant's invitation; and, coming into the berth, took his place upon a chest, and swallowed the dram which the Sergeant handed to him.

"Well, but," said Charles, after a short silence, "now do tell me who are those men you call Methodists, and how long have they been in the regiment?"

"Why, what," said the Sergeant, "can make you so inquisitive -about these fools? Some of them, if you must know, were among those who joined us at Portsmouth, just before we embarked; and the others we had with us in the north. They came out in the Glory; and I was told, by one of our old soldiers, who was on board her, that they were at it from morning to night--praying and reading, ay, and singing too, till they were bid hold their tongues: for the sailors had it they raised the storm we had off the Cape by their psalm-singing."

"That is a good story indeed," returned Charles, affecting to laugh; "but who is their leader ?"

"He calls himself Abraham Hays;--an old hypocrite," replied the Sergeant; "there he sits in the midst of them: but he had best mind and not begin his psalm-singing and canting here, or I will report him, and he shall be made to remember it."

Charles Lorraine made no answer to Sergeant Jones; for he could not join with him in his malicious expressions against these godly persons, and yet he had not the virtuous courage to take their part; he therefore sat silent for a while, and then walked away.

This little adventure caused many uneasy feelings to arise in. the mind of the young sergeant; and that very evening, happening to be on guard, his thoughts were so painful to him that he was inclined to wish he had never been born; and yet he could form no resolution to leave his sinful course of life and return to his God, or to seek assistance from above to accomplish that which he nevertheless felt that he could never effect by his own strength.

The regiment lay one year in Fort William, during which period Charles Lorraine led a very wild and sinful life, being what the world calls a pleasant young man in discourse. Whenever any sergeant had a drinking party, young Lorraine was invited; and then he thought he could do no less than invite the same company to visit him in return. So that he lived in one continual round of dissipation, and seldom, if ever, went to bed sober.

Moreover, by degrees he became fond of the society of such women as Mrs. Williams and Mrs. Smith, who were much smartened up since they arrived in India: and he would often invite these unprincipled persons to join such parties as he invited to make merry in his berth; being much amused and pleased with the very things in them which at first had shocked and disgusted him. But they knew how to flatter his vanity; and in this manner they made way into his good graces, and gained his good word.

When the corps had been one year in Calcutta, it was ordered up to Dinapoor, and the regiment was shipped off altogether, men, women, and children, in large thatched boats, to be dragged up the river as much as five hundred miles, at the rate of nine or ten miles a day.

The manner of life in the boats was much the same day after day. The troops were confined on board till about five o'clock, when the vessels were brought to shore; and then the men, getting out of their confinement, wandered about the neighbouring country as far as the time would allow, being all obliged to be back to their boats at a certain hour.

Nothing very particular happened to young Lorraine on these occasions; excepting one evening when the boats came to anchor at a pleasant little village on the Hooghly, just opposite Berhampoor, which is a European station about 140 miles above Calcutta.

It was a fine evening, and the air was delightfully cool; young Lorraine therefore was glad to escape from his confinement to enjoy a walk. He passed hastily through the village, which was scattered along the banks of the river, opposite the line of boats, and saw before him a shady and pleasant wood, into which he entered. A narrow foot-path ran through the wood, winding among the trees. Charles Lorraine followed this path a long time, till he thought he had left all the regiment far behind him, and until not the small-eat sound was able to reach his ear from the boats or the village.

The trees which surrounded him were of various kinds; and there was one sort covered with a blossom, the odour of which reminded him of that of the primrose. In some places he could see the water through the trees, for the road followed the course of the river, and in other parts the thicket was so close that the path was quite gloomy.

It had been long, very long, since Charles Lorraine had known the pleasure of being alone: and now the solitude and the silence, the shade of the trees, the distant glimpses which he now and then caught of the river, the sweet smell of the blossoms, the moaning of a certain kind of dove with which those woods abound, brought all at once to his mind the Lady's Chapel Wood, (where he had first spoken to his lovely Mary,) the River Wenabech, and all those beloved ones who dwelt upon its banks. A sad sense of his very great distance from his home and his dear friends then overspread his mind. But these were not his most painful feelings: had they been so he could have borne them with ease. His most melancholy reflections were these: "Oh, how am I changed!--how am I fallen!--how am I altered from what I once was!" Here Charles began to call to mind, and count up as it were, his transgressions; but, shocked at their number, he tried to put off the thought. He could not however succeed; and his heart was so torn with the reflections he was led to make, that he burst into tears and smote his hand upon his breast. At this moment, looking behind him, he thought he saw a glimpse of some one belonging to the regiment coming along the pathway after him. He was conscious that he was not in a fit state to be seen by any one: he therefore looked round him for an instant, to discover a way of escape; and perceiving a half-beaten path, which led under some high trees, ho turned into it and soon was, as he hoped, safe out of the way of all observation. Yet still hearing footsteps behind him, he dashed into a more unfrequented path; and little heeding any dangers which might lurk among the bushes, in the shape of serpents, or other hurtful creatures, he hastily made his way into a more open place. He still walked forward; and at length came to a grove, or, as it is called in India, a tope, of mangoe trees, under which the ground was bare and beaten. Within the shade of this tope were several trunks of trees, which had either been felled, or had fallen there by accident: and upon these trunks Charles Lorraine saw, with amazement, several European soldiers, of his own regiment, seated; but in such a manner that their backs were for the most part turned towards him.

He stood still for a moment to observe what they were doing, for he perceived they had books in their hands; and presently he heard them begin to sing, though in a soft and under tone; notwithstanding which he was able to recognise, not only the air, but the words of their hymn, which was to this effect:--

"How are thy servants bless'd, O Lord,
How sure is our defence!
Eternal wisdom is our guide,
Our help Omnipotence.

"In foreign realms, and lands remote,
Supported by thy care,
Through burning climes we pass unhurt,
And breathe the tainted air.

"Our life, while thou preserv'st that life,
Thy sacrifice shall be;
And death, when death shall be our lot,
Shall join our souls to thee."

Charles Lorraine listened till they had finished their hymn, and one of the party began to read a portion of the Scripture. He then, though unintentionally, moved, and thereby caused a rustling of the leaves, which made the whole party start and turn round. The young sergeant now knew them to be the same persons whom he had seen reading in the berth opposite to that of Corporal Bell; and he particularly remarked the calm and subdued countenance of Abraham Hays.

It seems that these pious men had been much persecuted since they came to India, by some of the ungodly of the regiment, and that therefore, not being able to carry on their devotions in public, it was their custom, when opportunity served, to seek some retired place for that purpose; thus being admitted, as it were, into that class of "pilgrims and strangers" who wander in dens and caves of the earth. It was not therefore to be wondered at that they were alarmed when they saw young Lorraine, particularly where they observed his sash and feather; and Abraham Hays, coming forward, and speaking respectfully to him, requested him as a favour, that he would not inform of them.

"For what should I inform of you?" replied Charles. "Are you doing anything contrary to orders?"

"No," answered John Bell; "yet some there are, you must know, Sergeant, who do not approve of our meeting to pray and sing."

"You mistake me," replied Charles Lorraine, "if you suppose I am one of that sort. I would not persecute you on any account, lest I should be found fighting against God."

A smile of pleasure passed over the face of Abraham Hays when he heard these words; and he said, "Then perhaps you would not object to join us, Sergeant. We should be proud of your company."

"No," returned young Lorraine; "no, I am not fit to join you, I am no company for you."

"We hope no offence," observed Abraham Hays. "We trust we know how to respect our superiors; but, in the sight of God, Sergeant, the different degrees among men are but as dust in the balance. You know that it is written, 'The rich and poor meet together, the Lord is the maker of them all.'"

The colour rose in young Lorraine's cheeks when he heard these words; and he replied, "You mistake me, comrades--you quite mistake me. It is true, you are not fit company for me, nor I for you; but not in the sense you mean. You are pious men--persons who fear God: and I am a miserable sinner--the chief and first of sinners."

"And what are we but sinner?" asked Abraham Hays, stepping forwards. "As such we meet before our Lord, as such we call upon him, and as such we fly to Him who gave up his life for us upon the cross. Come, Sergeant, give us the right hand of fellowship. We enjoy many sweet seasons together; and the Lord may, perhaps, make you a partaker of our peace."

Charles Lorraine drew his hand back from Abraham Hays, and striking it upon his forehead, he said, "No, no, I will not bring disgrace on your innocent society, by uniting myself with you. No, I am not fit for such company; but I will never betray you. I will not hurt you; the Lord forbid it. And, oh! that I could be as you are, I should then be happy!" Thus speaking, he turned back by the way he came, and arrived in a state of greater misery than ever, in the more public parts of the wood, where he was soon joined by such of his associates as could help him for a while to forget his better feelings.

After the regiment to which Charles was attached had been travelling in the boats nearly four weeks, it arrived at Dinapoor.

This place is a station for European soldiers, situated on the river Ganges, about 600 miles above Calcutta; it stands on a plain, which is so damp and swampy as to render it at some seasons of the year very unwholesome.

The barracks consist of two large squares, built with great regularity, containing handsome ranges of apartments for the officers, and long and spacious halls in which the private soldiers and non-commissioned officers are lodged with the greatest comfort; these last being permitted to appropriate to themselves the corner berths, which they screen off in such a way as to render them quite private.

None of these buildings are more than one story high, and, both within and without, they resemble in their form and extent some churches which we have seen in England, having many high and arched doors and windows; only we must observe that, instead of glass, the windows are filled with green lattice work, which excludes the sun, and at the same time admits the air, circumstances very desirable in that hot climate; where, during two-thirds of the year, the heat is excessive.

The buildings are all formed of white stone, and the area of each square, together with the walks which surround it, are kept very neat; so that there can scarcely be imagined a more beautiful and magnificent place of its kind than Dinapoor.

Immediately behind the barracks, and parted from them, if I remember right, only by a little bridge, is the Bazar, or Black Town, where such persons dwell as provide the Europeans with food and other necessary articles. This town consists of mud huts, arranged in little narrow streets, without windows or chimneys, and stalls bedecked with such commodities as the people have to sell, chiefly comprising coarse pottery, brass vessels, beads, chintzes, muslins, curious shoes, painted umbrellas and stools, and various fruits and vegetables.

There are also larger and better houses scattered in and near this bazar, some occupied by English gentlemen, and others by rich black men; and as the country about Dinapoor is remarkably fertile, though damp and unwholesome, the gardens and open spaces which encompass these houses are richly ornamented with a variety of choice trees, such as do not grow in England. Among these are various kinds of palm trees, which may be known by their long and slender shafts, generally crowned with tufts of broad and glossy leaves; the bamboo, which somewhat resembles our common willow; and the mangoe tree, which produces a remarkably fine fruit, and whose blossoms fill the air with a delightful odour resembling that of our primrose.

After being so long confined in boats, the soldiers were much pleased with the barracks; and young Lorraine in particular was delighted with his berth, which was situate in a corner of one of the halls, and which (as I before intimated) he, as a sergeant, was allowed to screen off for his own use. The arrival took place during the cold season, which is a fine time in that part of the world; and, among other advantages calculated to raise the spirits of the young soldier, money came in very fast.

The young man lost no time in providing himself with all that was deemed necessary for the proper outfit of one in his rank at that place, namely, a handsome cot, or bedstead, hung with white muslin, a table of sesoo wood, which is like our mahogany, a couple of varnished and gilt chairs, a chest clamped with brass, a case for liquors, a new and complete set of linen, a watch with a handsome chain and seals, and a black man to keep the flies off him with a fan (or choury, as it is called in that country) while he was taking his meals.

Being thus plentifully provided, he began to take unusual state upon himself, to call about him among the natives, and to speak of his superiors, in their absence, with a familiarity which he would not have dared to use in their presence.

At this time many parties were given among the sergeants, and young Lorraine was always invited, being considered as one of the most genteel young men in barracks.

Meanwhile all serious thoughts were shut out from the mind of poor Charles; he found this world too pleasant for him to think of the next, and being in good health, he had no apprehension that the time might shortly come when religion would be his only means of comfort.

Since the barracks had been his home, he had never happened to meet Abraham Hays, either in company or on duty, excepting once, and that was one evening on guard at the hospital.

The hospital at Dinapoor is built on a plain, outside the squares before mentioned, and on that side of the barracks which is most remote from the bazar. It stands directly opposite the burying-ground, but at some distance from it.

On the evening to which I have alluded, when Sergeant Lorraine was on guard in company with Abraham Hays, as they were standing at the gate of the hospital, a funeral party came forth from within and passed on towards the burying-ground. Abraham Hays took this occasion to make some remarks on the awful nature of death, particularly to those who are unprepared; and he added, that as death is so uncertain, it is necessary that men should be at all times prepared.

"And what do you call being prepared for death?" demanded a corporal who was present; "having your will made and your coffin ready; is that being prepared?--for my part, my will will be easily made, for I have nothing to leave but my debts and my sins; and as to my coffin, I leave the care of that to those who may survive me."

No one made any answer to this profane speech, and for some moments all were silent. At length Sergeant Lorraine, whose eye had been upon the funeral party, as they proceeded with measured steps towards the burying-ground, repeated the question, though in a different manner, and said, "Well, but seriously, Abraham Hays, what do you mean by being prepared for death?"

"Why, Sergeant," replied Abraham Hays, "they that know anything at all, know that as man is formed of two parts, soul and body, so death is also two-fold, and has, as one may say, two parts; one part by which it destroys the body, and the other by which it destroys the soul. Now the destruction of the body is no such great matter but that a man may face it and wait for it without much fear; nay, perhaps, under some circumstances, with hope and desire: but he must be a brave man, indeed, who can look forward without trembling and horror to the death of the soul; for 'who can dwell with everlasting burnings'"

"Very true," returned Sergeant Lorraine, stifling a sigh.

"Now what is that," proceeded Abraham Hays, "by which we incur eternal death? what, I say, but sin? The Scripture hast it, 'The sting of death is sin.' It is sin which brings a man to hell; and as judgment most certainly follows death, what wonder is it if sinners should fear death above all things?"

Abraham Hays looked at Sergeant Lorraine when he spoke these last words, and he read in the young man's downcast and dejected countenance that he decidedly agreed with all he said; which induced him to proceed with his remarks.

"If sin is that which makes death horrible," continued Abraham Hays, "he that would be prepared for death must get rid of his sins; and how is that to be done but by laying them at the foot of the cross, and taking up the righteousness of the Lord Jesus Christ in their stead?"

"A blessed exchange, indeed," remarked Charles Lorraine; "and I once believed that I understood how it could be made; but I cannot comprehend it now.

"Why, Sergeant, how should you comprehend the matter now, when you- never give your attention to it?" asked Abraham Hays; "but, on the contrary, pursue those things which render your mind as dark as night. Now I wish, Sergeant," he added, drawing him a little aside, "I wish you could be persuaded to quit the vain company you keep, and seek your Lord; you would find comfort soon, depend upon it you would,"

"You are very kind, Abraham Hays; very kind," replied Charles: "and I should like to have some discourse with you on these matters at some other time. But it is your turn for sentry," he continued, pulling out his watch; "come to my berth to-morrow, and we will have a little talk."

Abraham Hays sighed, and thought of the words of Felix, as recorded in Acts xxiv. 25, who, when St. Paul reasoned of righteousness, temperance, and judgment to come, trembled, and answered, "Go thy way for this time, when I have a convenient season, I will call for thee."

The next day Abraham Hays called at Sergeant Lorraine's berth, but found him engaged in company: and, though he often repeated his visit, yet no convenient opportunity for serious discourse ever occurred to the young sergeant.

In the meanwhile, although Charles Lorraine never permitted Abraham Hays to enter upon the discourse which the good man so earnestly desired, yet the few words which this pious soldier had had the opportunity of saying at the hospital, had sunk so deeply into the young sergeant's heart that he could not shake off the recollection of them; and although they produced no corresponding effect upon his actions, nevertheless they were of some service (under the divine blessing) in preserving him from a state of entire deadness as to spiritual matters.--But to proceed with my story.

There was then at Dinapoor, a certain old European, who had made his way to India many years back, nobody knew how, and who ostensibly existed by keeping a shop or warehouse for European articles, of which, however, he sold so few, that it was well understood he must have some underhand way of providing for his family. This man, whose name was Patrick O'Connor, was frequently to be seen in and about the barracks, and was often present at the entertainments given in the sergeants' berths.

Patrick O'Connor had made several advances to Sergeant Lorraine, and often showed himself very desirous of his acquaintance; but it was not till a few weeks after the before-mentioned discourse with Abraham Hays, that he could prevail upon the young man to accept an invitation to his house.

Sergeant Lorraine was idling in the bazar one evening after parade, when he was accosted by O'Connor, who, after a short conversation, pressed him so earnestly to accompany him to his house, that the young man was no longer able to refuse; although he knew very well the danger of forming an intimacy with a man whose character was considered so questionable by all the reflecting persons in the place. He accordingly followed O'Connor through an obscure part of the bazar till he brought him into a narrow lane, at the end of which was his habitation.

The dwelling of Patrick O'Connor was a large stone building, standing in a walled court with wide gates in front: and within the court were certain high trees, in which the crows had made their nests time out of mind. The whole domain wore an air of gloom, solitude, and neglect, of which we have little notion in this country.

A group of females, whose dress and appearance were half European and half native, having their well oiled hair fastened in large knots at the back of their heads, and wearing full petticoats of striped silk, were standing within the court when the sergeant entered, and immediately came up to him and accosted him in broken English.

Young Lorraine was made to understand that the oldest and darkest of these was the wife of O'Connor, and that some of the others were his daughters; and he soon became sensible from the forwardness of their deportment, that although they had laid aside the exterior decorum of their own countrywomen, they had not acquired any of the decent habits of the English.

The time had been when Charles Lorraine would have avoided such company as this with horror; but now, although not without some feelings of fear and dislike, he consented to accompany them into the house, and to sit down to table with them in a large hall, where presently a number of Hindoostanee dishes were set before them, together with abundance of ardent liquors, in the private sale of which last article consisted the real support of this ill-ordered family.

I shall not enter into a further description of this scene: suffice it to say, that young Lorraine was scarcely able to stand on parade next morning; and, I am sorry to add, that from that period he was a constant visitor at O'Connor's house, and became a frequent customer at his go-down, or warehouse of ardent spirits: and thus passed the time till the cold weather was gone, and the hot season approached.

At this period many of the regiment were seized with fevers, and others were covered with boils from head to foot.

From the middle of March till the end of June the heat continued to increase. At length no European persumed to go out from seven in the morning till six in the evening, and even under cover the oppression of the air was so great, that many were glad to spend - the greater part of the day stretched on their cots. During the latter part of this trying season, there were two or three funerals every day. Yet, those who still retained their health laid these events little to heart; and those who were devoted to drink, took it with even less moderation than ever, and thus exposed themselves to the greater danger.

Charles Lorraine had seen several of his companions carried off to the hospital, and some to the burying-ground, before he was taken ill himself. It was not, however, to be expected, considering the habits into which he had lately fallen, that he should altogether escape: and at length, before the time of the beginning of the rains, he was seized with the same distemper which had destroyed so many of his comrades; and being rendered quite unfit for his duty, he was ordered to the hospital. He was there laid on a bed in one of the wards, and left to the care of a cooly (a black man of very low caste, who is employed to wait on the patients in hospitals.) Here he lay for several long days and weary nights, seeing few persons whom he knew, for almost all those with whom he used to feast and carouse in the barracks now appeared to have forgotten the man in whose company they once delighted. Mrs. Williams, indeed, who had always been partial to Charles Lorraine, came over to see him several times; but now that he could coolly hearken to her discourse, he found it so disgusting that he gave her little encouragement to repeat her visits. He now found that it was one thing to listen to the flighty talk, and flattering compliments, and coarse jokes of this giddy woman, when he was in company and excited by liquor; and another thing to listen to her on a sick-bed, when death stared him in the face, and all his sins and contemptuous neglect of religion rose up before him in terrible array.

Charles Lorraine had so often discouraged poor Abraham Hays from visiting him, and had looked so coldly upon him in the days of his prosperity, that he felt ashamed to send for him now, though he longed for his conversation. This good man, however, did not wait for an invitation, but came over one morning after parade, with his Bible in his hand, and kindly accosting the poor patient said, "Sergeant, if you will accept my company, I am come to spend an hour or two with you."

Sergeant Lorraine was much affected with this kindness; and holding out his hand to him, he made him sit down on the side of the cot, saying, "Ah, Abraham Hays, I wish I had fallen into your company when I first came into the regiment."

"Don't look to me, Sergeant, or to any man," replied Abraham Hays, "but look higher; look infinitely higher; and then you will be right."

The Sergeant and Abraham Hays then entered into a long and very serious discourse upon the subject of religion; and the Sergeant gave his companion a short account of his life, wherein he described himself as one who had been pious, but had grievously fallen away.

After reflecting awhile, Abraham Hays answered--"It is a very common mistake, Sergeant, for such persons as have been brought up in decent habits, and in the knowledge of religion, and who have afterwards fallen into sin; for such persons, I say, to suppose that they once had been somewhat advanced in the Christian life, and had made a grievous fall; when perhaps, if the matter were rightly looked into, all their religion would be found to have lain in their heads, and never to have been a real and vital work. Hence," continued Abraham Hays, "we may learn the necessity which there is for pious parents to use all the means in their power for keeping their children humble, and putting their self-denial and piety, as it were, to continual proof: for although a parent cannot really change the heart of a child, yet he may do much to prevent him from being puffed up with a high conceit of himself, or from indulging the idea that the religious knowledge he has in his head has anything to do with real conversion.

"It appears to me, Sergeant," continued this old Christian, "from your account of yourself, that there was no effectual or serious change commenced in you while you were in your mother's house. You had, no doubt, much knowledge of religion; for how, indeed, could that be otherwise, seeing that your pious mother took such pains to instruct you; but it is very plain from your conduct since you have been with us, that your head only was affected by your religion, and not your heart.

"The dreadful fall, however, which you have made," proceeded the good man, "and the present precarious situation of your health, will, I hope, by the divine blessing, bring you to a knowledge of yourself, and to deep and serious reflection;--you will, I trust, be made to see that without repentance you must perish for ever;-- you will, I hope, be made to feel your need of that Saviour whom you have heard of from childhood, but hitherto heard of with little or no proper feeling ;--and finally you will, I trust, be enabled to throw yourself entirely on the mercy of God, pleading the merits of Christ, and imploring the help of the Holy Spirit, by whose influence alone the heart of man is changed, and he is rendered a new creature, meet to be a partaker of the glory reserved for believers in the world to come.

"I have seen much in the Lord's dealings with you," added Abraham Hays, "which marks his loving-kindness towards you, insomuch, that I cannot doubt but that he will finish the work he has begun. Not to go further back in your life than the present moment, how, I ask, could he have testified his mercy to you in any way more remarkable than in the manner in which he has separated you from your evil companions, and brought you into a place where leisure is given you for reflection and repentance? Consider your late situation in the barracks, when you enjoyed health and were in favour with the world, and suppose that you had been suddenly cut off by a fever, or a stroke of the sun at that period without time or opportunity of being brought to your God, how dreadful would have been your situation then compared with what it now is! What greater proof of tender love could your Almighty Father have given you than this--the allowing you opportunity before you depart hence of returning to him; of confessing your sins, acknowledging your own utter helplessness, and seeking the privileges offered to the repentant sinner through Christ the Saviour? What greater proof of love, I say, Sergeant, could your heavenly Father have manifested unto you over and above those which you have received from him? Whatever you may think of it, I see his dealings with you in such a light that I draw from them the best hopes in your favour. Yes, Sergeant, I do hope and believe that the Lord has the most gracious purposes towards you."

Sergeant Lorraine was not one who required to be taught the nature of religion. There are many poor creatures calling themselves Christians who have the whole of their religion to learn on their death-beds: and, although it is certain that when the Holy Spirit communicates his transforming influence, it produces a swift and astonishing effect, enlightening in one moment the darkest understanding, inasmuch as the word of the Lord which is the sword of the Spirit is quick and powerful, yet, humanly speaking, it is a great comfort when a man comes to be savingly changed, to find his mind already furnished with divine knowledge. And this was the case with Sergeant Lorraine. To many other men such discourse as Abraham Hays held with him would have been dark and unintelligible, but to Charles it was quite clear and very encouraging. It opened new views to him of the goodness of the Lord; it filled his heart with love; and, through the divine blessing, it brought him to weep for and lament his sins as one laments an offence against a tender parent; and it led him to cry with the prodigal son--"Father, I have sinned against Heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son."

When Abraham Hays took his leave, poor Charles pressed him to come to him whenever he could spare time, and also requested that whenever he was himself particularly engaged, he would send one of his pious comrades to sit by him. The sergeant also gave his keys into the hands of his kind visitor, and desired him to go to his berth, and send him his Bible from the bottom of his chest.

Abraham Hays did not leave Sergeant Lorraine till it was time to get ready for parade; and as he was to be on duty that night, he promised to send one of his friends with the Bible, to remain with him till gun-fire.

It may perhaps disappoint some persons who may read the history of poor Charles Lorraine, to hear that he never returned to his mother's house, never more visited the beautiful woods and hills near his parent's cottage, and never beheld again his beloved Mary. To those, however, who have a proper sense of the value of the immortal soul, it will be a great satisfaction to be informed that in the course of a long and painful illness, he was brought through divine mercy to sincere repentance and humiliation, and that he frequently and solemnly declared that he had no hope but in the merits and death of his Saviour Christ, our Lord.

He spoke of the early parts of his life as of a period in which he had learned to speak about religion, but had more of it in his head than in his heart: and he attributed all his afflictions to the absence of humility, and to that self-confidence which led him to suppose that he was able to withstand every trial and temptation to which he was liable.

Abraham Hays and his pious comrades were the constant attendants and comforters of poor Charles Lorraine during his illness; and as there was at that time no minister in or near Dinapoor, they administered as well as they were able to the wants of his soul: and after his death they sent home such an account of the blessings attending his departure, as not a little softened the news of that sorrowful event to his poor mother.

Sergeant Charles Lorraine died in the beginning of the cold season, two years and a half after his first joining his regiment at Carlisle: his early death was the effect, no doubt, of hard drinking on first arriving in a hot country. Through the infinite mercy of his Almighty Father, as I have before said, his sickness had been protracted to such a length as allowed him opportunity for repentance; and although his old companions in the regiment, namely, Sergeant Jones and Sergeant and Mrs. Williams, had seldom taken occasion to visit him, yet he experienced the kindest attentions from Abraham Hays and such other poor men of the regiment as were under the reproach of Christ.

The widow Lorraine survived her son many years, and her latter days were much embittered by the remembrance of that indiscreet fondness by which she had encouraged the vanity of her only child, and thereby led him into a course of life whereby he might have been rendered abidingly miserable, had not the Chief Shepherd, who ever watches over his flock, brought him back as a lost sheep to his fold.

Mary Low did not live long after the news of Charles's death arrived; yet, being much comforted by the account which Abraham Hays had sent of his happy state of mind before his departure, her death was not attributed so much to grief as to a pining sickness with which she was soon after seized, and which brought her down to the grave in the bloom of life, as a fair flower cut off by the hand of the mower.