Eon tfe Democratic Rcriew.

REVOLUTIONARY "REMINISCENCES OF

 AN OLD SOLDIER.
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REVOLUTIONARY "REMINISCENCES UT

 AN OLD SOLDIER.

 | shall never forget the memorable morn- ing that gave me my fathers consent to be- come a soldier. 1 had strongly imbibed the spirit of the times, and earnestly desired to march with the noble band that had left our neiphborhood for the camp at Cambridge. Nv father was a warm ''Lberty man," and had contributed largely to the outfit of his neighbors who exchanged .he plough for the musket; vet as was his only son, and had not vet seen sixteen summers, 1t is not strange that he desired to retain me at home. With I habitual obedience, yielded to his decision, but could not refrain from tears of vexation and longing, as l saw my companions de- part This practical proof of my pnfitness for soldier did not escape the observation of my father, and it was owing to resolu- ton that formed in consequence of his se- were and scornful rebuke, that my cheek has never since been seen moistened by tear which people will find easier than they may think, if they will only try. But not many days after; as my father and myself were pass ing towards the fields, the scene of our daily tolls, the cheerful stiffness of the morning was broken by the sound of cannon. It was in the direction of Boston, and we instlnctively felt that acar had, in good earnest, begun. The sounds became more frequent. My ia ther would fain have preserved his usual composure, which so well became the old est deacon of the church, but his patriotic feelings became too strong for mastery. Clap ping his hands with force that made me start as if one of the cannon had been fired by my side, he exclaimed, ss John, you may go 70 There was no mistaking his meaning. Though these were all the words he uttered, yet knew had permission to join the ar my, and that the permission would not be recalled. threw away the cart-whip that ] had in my hand, which neither of us stop ped to pick up, and we immediately returned to the house, and began arrangements for my departure. The old musket was taken down and examined; there was not particle of dust about 1t, as 1 had cleaned 1t daily for months. The time spent by my father in changing, adjusting, and proving the flint, was to me excessively annoying. But he knew better than did, that feelings, howev- , CT fiery, would not ignite gunpowder. In f the mean time, had packed my knapsack, , with more haste than skill, and hitched our old bay to the chaise. In less than an hour after the sound of the first cannon had reach , ed our ears, we were moving, father, knap-

 sack, musket and 1, towards Boston. The horse, who did not seem to partake of my

 enthusiasm, moved as deliberately as if trav- l cling his usual Sabbath-day journey. would gladly have dispensed with his ser vices, but my fathers cool and slow self-pos- session had returned, and no deviation from his will was to be thought of.

 should have remarked that my mother } was absent on visit to my married sister ? so that was spared the trial of bidding her 7 farewell, which would, no doubt, have been very different affair from the parting with : my father.

 We had cleared the lane, and gained the

 main road towards Boston. l was devising expedients for quickening the pace of the

 Tory beast, as in my heart had called him, 7 when we met our worthy and revered pas tor, MT. Forbes He paused as we drew near. My musket and knapsack-and pro- 7 bably my countenance too, though am sure , my fathers would not-informed him whith- CT we were bound When one all-absorbing , idea is present, conversation, as far as relates to it, can be carried on at small expense to words.

 "So, John, you are going to fight the bat ties of God and your country"

 ssY es, sir, Pm going to try," l replied, et- iquette forbidding the use of any of the ex- pletives that rose to my lips, in the presence of minister.

 "Well, may the blessing of the God of battles go with you, John. But remember, John, when you are away from your min ister and your father, that you are not away from God. Remember--," and the old mans eyes filled with tears as he gazed upon lne-he closed them, and for few seconds was engaged in mental supplication,-then bestowing "God bless youw upon me, he passed on, as if unwilling to delay us from such an errand. This meeting passed in a minute, but the impression that it left on my mind has lasted for many year, and was far deeper than if he had bestowed a length ened lecture, to which l am sure he would not have found very patient listener. But the good man knew always what to say, and when to say it ]; in this respect, differing wide lv from some of his sacred profession that have fallen in with in the evening of my days. Whatever improvements there may have been made in other things, 1 am free 

 to say that the breed of our ministers has not improved The fact is, they could not be much better than they were in those days, much as they are now sometimes ridiculed , by ungrateful blockheads, who are enjoying , the liberty which the ministers of that day, quite as much as any other class of men, , aided to secure.

 The distance from my native place to. Bos-

 ton was about fourteen miles" My father

 left me to perform the latter half of the dis

 tance on foot; his parting advice was brief l "Farewell, John, you know your duty; and mind what Mr. Forbes said to you" arrived at the camp before nightfalI, r somewhat exhausted by the haste had made during the latter half of the way. l sought the company to which my companions be. longed, and entered it as volunteer. My : friends had not taken part in the engagement,