NOVEMBER. 315 



baskets of tapes, braces, laces, pins, cotton-balls, and 

 so forth. These, and occasionally the Highland 

 drovers, with their plaids and dogs, and flocks and 

 herds, bringing with them the wildness of their 

 native moors, are all very well in their way they 

 look well ; but they are the casual wayfarers about 

 whom gathers the deepest interest. 



Of all the melancholy spectacles which every-day 

 life presents, what is more melancholy than the 

 marching of a troop of recruits out of the town 

 where they have been raised ? You hear a single 

 drum beat, a single fife play ; you see a crowd col- 

 lected, and another minute discovers to you some 

 twenty or thirty boys and men of the lowest class in 

 their common clothes, with ribands in their hats, 

 and bundles in their hands, awkwardly commencing 

 that march which leads to destruction. They have 

 screwed up their resolutions to the point of the ne- 

 cessary calmness of aspect; they have bid good- 

 b'ye to their friends, with whom they are ambitious 

 of leaving the reputation of having gone oft' stoutly; 

 some of their sweethearts, with red eyes, are hover- 

 ing about ; many of their comrades are going on a 

 little with them ; and, perhaps, some fond and heart- 

 broken mother still clings tenaciously, but dejectedly, 

 to the side of her son, who has cost her nothing but 

 sorrow since he could run from her door. They 

 proceed a mile or two ; the fife and drum fall back; 

 the last shaking of hands and shedding of tears 

 arrives, and they are led away to their distant station. 

 The scene is sad enough ; but if we look forward, 



