Above was a Latin motto, which I cannot now recall, but the body of it I remember well: “All Intrepid, able-bodied Heroes who are willing to serve against the Arbitrary Usurpations of a Tyranickal Congress can now, by enlisting, acquire the polite Accomplishments of a Soldier. “Such spirited Fellows will, besides their Pay, be rewarded at the End of the War with Fifty Acres of Land, To which every Heroe may retire and Enjoy His Lass and His Bottle.” This so much amused me that I stood still to gaze; for below it was seen the name of an old schoolmate, William Allen, now a lieutenant-colonel, in want of Tory recruits. I felt suddenly a rousing whack on the back, and turning in a rage, saw two drunken grenadiers. “Join the harmy, friend; make a cussed fine Quaker bombardier.” I instantly cooled, for people began to stop, pleased at the fun of baiting a Quaker. The others cried, “Give us a drink, old Thee-and-Thou!” Some soldiers paused, hoping for a ring and a fight. I was pushed about and hustled. I saw that at any moment it might end ill. I had a mighty mind toward anything but non-resistance, but still, fearing to hit the fellows, I cried out meekly, “Thou art wrong, friends, to oppress a poor man.” Just then I heard William Allen’s voice back of me, crying, “Let that Quaker alone!” As he quickly exercised the authority of an officer, the gathering crowd dispersed, and the grenadiers staggered away. I was prompt enough to slip down High street, glad to be so well out of it. At the inn of the “Bag of Nails,” on Front street, I found a number of Friends, quiet over their Hollands. I sat down in a dark corner, and would have had a well-earned bowl; but I was no sooner seated than in came a man with a small bell, and, walking among the guests, rang it, saying, “It is half after ten, and there will be no more liquor served. No more! no more!” I knew that it would be impossible to break this decree, and therefore contented myself with cold beef and cole-slaw. I went to bed, and thought over the oddity of my being helped by William Allen, and of how easily I might have been caught. In washing next morning I was off my guard, and got rid of the most of my pokeberry juice. I saw my folly too late, but there was no help for it. I resolved to keep my wide brim well down over my face, seeing in a mirror how too much like my own self I had become.