"Who'll serve the King?" said the Sergeant, aloud, Loud roll'd the drum, and the fife played sweetly. "Here, Mr Sergeant," says I from the crowd, "Is a lad that will serve your turn completely!" Old Sons. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ I was aroused by the sound of the reveille at six o'clock on the following morning. The soldiers all arose, rolled up their beds, or rather straw palliasses, turning up the bedsteads--made with a hinge in the middle--placed the roll of bedding upon it, folded the sheets, blankets, and coverlid neatly one by one, and arranged them on the beds in such a manner that the room presented the appearance of a draper's shop in less than five minutes. They then went to stables, leaving me in bed. I soon got up and dressed myself, making a sorry attempt to put my bedding in the same state as the rest, and sauntered through the long passage down a flight of stone steps into the barrack-yard, until it was getting daylight. By this time I had made up my mind to return home at all risks, and in pursuance of this resolve, I started for the front gate, but having to pass the guard-room, I again came in contact with the corporal who had so kindly volunteered to find me a night's lodging. He beckoned me towards him, and said that he had just sent for his friend the recruiting sergeant, of whom he had spoken the previous night, and that he expected him up every minute. Wishing to avoid him, I said that I would go out and get breakfast, and might come back in the course of an hour. But the corporal probably suspected I might _not_ return, and managed to keep me in conversation until the arrival of his friend the recruiting sergeant of a regiment of hussars. Sergeant Brailsford, for that was his name, was a man eminently calculated for the duty to which he had been appointed. His splendid uniform, evidently got up for the purpose of dazzling the eyes of the unwary, was decidedly the handsomest suit of clothes I had ever seen.