vosh as soon go to hell as serve my times to a trumpeter."

“You are about right there, Master Mordecai," said Swan, another of the party, "for, make the best of it, 'tis a hell of a life. To straddle a pie-bald charger, and be a mark for the enemy; to stand fire like a tun or a target, for thirteen pence a day, and be scavenger to your own horse."

"And after all to get no honour by it," added Gwyn. "Damme, after all's said and done, he's only a trumpeter,' as the saying is. I'd rather apprentice my son to old Sugar and Sack, the chimney-sweeper, than make him a trumpeter, or I am the greatest rogue alive.”

"Give us some wine, you Mister Mordecai, give us some wine," cried Hold-me-fast. "Did not the host give us a furlough to call for what we please? and-hic-it is my pleasure to drink; and here's to the memory of his old highness that's gone to his reward. What say you, Master Swan?"

"No, I'll see you d-d first," said Swan; "what should we drink to him for?"

"Why! wherefore! - why, you swearing reprobate-hic-because he feared the Lord.” "Ha-ha-ha-ha. Yes, but he feared nothing else," said Shore. "He was as tough an old soger as ever carried a sword;-right is right, and that I'll say for him ;-but as for fearing the Lord-that's all my eye, Master Hold-mefast; all moonshine. Yes! he went, seeking the Lord when he did for the king; whether he found him or no, I neither know nor care; but this I know, that was a black business of his, murdering the old sovereign. However, that's his affair, and the devil and him, I dare say, have scotched that business before now. We'll couple 'em together if you like. Here goes, then-steady, my old soger; steady, hob and nob-don't spill good wine, my old cock-here's his highness old Noll and the Devil.”

The old fat trumpeter drank the wine, and dashing the glass upon the floor, exclaimed"It is an abomination to waste what the Lord hath sent to comfort his servants; but-hicthat glass shall never profane the lips of a Christian. How should you know aught of the devil, you son of Belial-the old serpent, the

prince of darkness-you who have no light-hic -you reprobate? Why this Jew-man is worthier the name of Christian than-hic-you, Master Shore."

"All's one for that, my old saint. If you can carry on the game by preaching and breaking glasses, why do so; but stringing texts together will not long keep that fat carcass of yours in good case. What are we to do?-hey?—tell me that. Where are we to get employ?—have you no gospel for that?

"Ah, Master Hold-me-fasht, that is vot I should say, vosh I a trumpeter. Look to the main shance, main shance is every thing: vot ish preaching to an empty guts, ven a man vants business for employ in his honesht calling? Vot shall these musishioners findt employ? Vot is the use of trumpeters, ven there ish no more of civil vars? Blow me! vot if trumpeters ishunt a tdrug upon the market.”

"Well said, Moses Mordecai, there's sense and understanding in that," replied Shore. "Answer that, you canting, guzzling old pretender. Come, my worthy Jew, let us have a glass together: hob and nob, Moses, give us

your hand; dash my cap! if I don't begin to think you are a better fellow than I took you for."

"Hic-' I said unto the fools, deal not foolishly; and to the wicked, lift not up the horn. Lift not up your horn on high:-hicspeak not with a stiff neck.'"

"Body o' me, Master Hold-me-fast, if you would not have had many another broken head, but for that artful trick of lugging in your texts. Isn't it so, Master Swan? These canting, preaching, praying, devil-dodging Independents becall their betters black and blue, through the bible: a set of hypocritical scoundrels that curse and swear, and revile by proxy, and knock every body on the head with the holy book. I only wish I'd had the luck to have been in the king's service, for I know I'm a worthless blackguard, as most of us are; but I'd wager any man a bowl of punch I should have continued a pious fellow, if I had not been made sick of all religion by these rascally saints. There was that wolf in sheep's clothing, that Lord Pride, and that other upstart-colonels too! Why I re

member the time when the one was a wheelbarrow small beer brewer in Barbican, and the other an apprentice shoe-maker there by Cripplegate, when my father was a better man than either, damme, and these fellows carry their heads so high, and set their beggarly rumps in the Parliament."

"Yes! they were pretty ones," said Phil Colchester, "I too had too large a dose of their canting; and I left the service, and got into the old king's. There was that bully Harrison, our colonel, and Hewson, that other one-eyed thief; I never shall forget it, after turning the widow of a clergyman out of the parsonage, because she had been reading the church prayer-book to her children, and set down and munched up the dinner."

But not till they had craved a grace as ong as my arm, I'd be sworn," said Shore.

6

"No, trust 'em for that," replied Phil. They took off their iron skull-caps, and placing them before their hypocritical faces, snuffled about the Lord, and peeped like foxes over the brims at the beef and plumb-pudding It was