Papark just lately, I came upon a considerable company of soldiers massed on the green. I am totally unacquainted with military tactics; but evidently they were fresh from the achievement of some tremendous undertaking. Their boots were dusty, their scarlet breasts and backs showed marks of chafing of their pipeclayed shoulder-straps, and their brows were flushed and perspiring.

ASSING through St. James's

Whatever had been the nature of their engagement, however, it was all over now. Peace times had returned, and every man stood at complete ease. Muskets were piled, chin straps relaxed-caps, indeed, were in some few instances entirely removed-perambulators, with their infantine freight, propelled by admiring and confiding nursemaids, edged close to the men of war; old women with oranges to sell joked with them, and the meek gingerbeer seller made way for his basket amongst their military elbows, mildly chirping a penny a bottle' with as calm a mien as though the British army was a mere mob of muffin men. It was a sweet sight and one worthy the contemplation of the British tax-payer. We are at heart a commercial people, and like to see our worth for our money, and at the time when we open our purses; and in my opinion it would be a move in the right direction as leading to national content and harmony, if, instead of appointing Mr. Smith the ironmonger, or Mr. Robinson the pork-butcher as collectors of income-tax, if that duty were made to devolve on none but absolute representatives of the real recipients of the said impost. Who could refuse the fivepence in the pound' if, instead of the snappish, fussy, jackin-office taxman of the ordinary type, a spurred and be-plumed warrior, or, perhaps, better still, a war-worn Chelsea pensioner came tapping at one's door stating his business in a frank and soldierly manner? Or if a son of Neptune, with his flow

ing neckerchief-ends and spotless trousers was observed making for one's gate, and tacking up one's steps, and bluffly saluting one's door, hitching up the before-mentioned article of attire as it was opened to him, and touching his tarpaulin hat with the respectful remark, 'Called for your honour's mite t'ords manning the queen's navy?' Without doubt, it would be cheerfully handed over, accompanied nine times out of ten by an invitation to the mariner to step down into the kitchen and drink the health and long reign of his royal mistress-a consequence, possibly, open to objection, but easily to be divested of its most perilous features by intrusting the service to none but elderly and thoroughly seasoned salts and providing them with beats of limited extent.

Sitting aloof in the cool shade of the chestnut trees, and complacently regarding the stalwart fellows so jolly-faced and beef-full, came the reflection, where do they all come from? Taking the strength of the British army at 150,000 men, and setting down the continual wear and tear and destruction at the moderate estimate of six per cent, we have an annual loss of 9,000 men that must be and is replaced. How? Through the agency of recruiting officers quartered in garrison towns and at the chief depôt in Charles Street, Westminster. But how many are 'pressed' men and how many volunteers? By 'pressed' men may be understood not only the unwary ones, who, with no previous thought of 'going so'jering' any more than of going a balloon voyage, find themselves suddenly in company of some dashing old army jackal, who, by dint of flattery and an elaborate prose rendering of that stirring martial ditty, Cigars and Cogniac,' wheedles the fatal shilling into his but half-conscious hand in a twinkling. There are pressed men other than this one by the dozen. Poverty and hunger, with no eyes but for the next meal, is a