THE
MILITARY SKETCH-BOOK.

VOL. I.

IN THE PRESS.

THE LANCERS.

IN THREE VOLUMES

LONDON:

PRINTED BY S. AND R. BENTLEY, DORSET STREET.

THE

MILITARY SKETCH-BOOK.

REMINISCENCES OF
SEVENTEEN YEARS IN THE SERVICE
ABROAD AND AT HOME.

BY AN OFFICER OF THE LINE.

“The wight can tell
A melancholy and a merry tale
Of field, and fight, and chief, and lady gay.”

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. I.

LONDON:

HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.

1827.

In presenting these Sketches to the public, the Author begs leave to say, that although in their production he sometimes indulged his imagination, fancy has only been employed to decorate truth. Facts form the ground-work of his book; and although the ornaments may have been carelessly or tastelessly placed, real incidents have neither been obscured nor distorted.

To the gentleman who supplied the Author with the necessary hints for the sketch entitled “Mess Table Chat, (No. IV.)” and also to the gallant officer whose memory and kindness furnished him with the facts relative to the Bush-rangers of Van Diemen's Land, the Author returns his most sincere thanks.

CONTENTS

OF

THE FIRST VOLUME.

THE
MILITARY SKETCH-BOOK.

FIRST WEEK IN THE SERVICE.

“For now sits expectation in the air,
And shews a sword from hilt unto the point.”
Henry V.

Never shall I forget the delightful sensations my mind experienced on reading, in the long-expected Gazette, the announcement of my first military appointment. I was in London at the time, and had been residing three weeks at Old Slaughter's Coffee House, in St. Martin's Lane, deferring from Tuesday 'till Saturday, and from Saturday 'till Tuesday, the fulfilment of my mother's strict injunctions “to take lodgings and live economically,” when one evening the waiter handed to me, damp from the press, the official sheet which was to terminate all my anxiety. There I was in print,—in absolute print; and that, too, in the Gazette—by the King's Royal Authority!

There are many youths, who, in such a situation, would, from the ecstatic impulse of their feelings, have upset the table; or have flung the decanter at the waiter's head; or, perhaps, have snatched the wig off the head of any respectable gentleman who might have happened to be sitting within reach; but I acted differently. Had it been an ordinary impulse of gladness, I should, no doubt, have poured forth my ebullition of pleasant feeling upon tables, decanters, waiters, and wigs of elderly gentlemen; but this was no everyday sensation,—no flash in the pan: it was a splendid coruscation, the intensity of which dazzled all my senses, and marvellously heightened my ideas of self-importance. The auditory organs of the Waterloo hero thrilled not more at the first announcement of his Grace's Dukedom, than mine, as my lips pronounced the consummation of my almost wearied hopes—an Ensigncy. I was more than a Duke, more than a King, more than an Emperor: I was a Subaltern. In idea, I was already a Captain, a Colonel, a General! I gave the reins to my enthusiastic imagination, and would not, I believe, have exchanged my commission for a coronet.

I instantly brought my body to an acute angle with my inferior extremities, by placing the latter longitudinally on the seat of the box in which I had placed myself, and, elevating my shirt-collar to a parallel line with my nose, ordered the waiter to bring me a bottle of claret. For the half hour I was engaged in drinking it, I continued to gaze at the Gazette, to the no small mortification of several fidgetty gentlemen who were waiting for a sight of it. Yet all I read, and all I could read, was “W****, A****, B***. Gent. to be Ensign, vice Thompson, killed in action!”

I was just turned of nineteen, a well grown and somewhat precocious lad, generally considered by my father and his friends as a shrewd and well-disposed fellow, who was likely one day or other to cut a figure in the army; but, by my mother and her female côterie, (all above the middle age,) I was set down, nem. con., as an arch wild dog, on whom a little military discipline would be by no means thrown away; for I was a second son, and my mother, although affectionate enough, did not evince towards me that strength—or, more properly speaking, that weakness—of maternal fondness which she lavished on my elder brother, (her favourite,) who was specially designed for the pulpit by her and her devout advisers. My own opinion of my disposition was about half-way between that of my father and mother. I never, to my knowledge, did much harm, except occasionally hoaxing our parson and apothecary; or operating a few nocturnal exchanges of signs[1] between barbers, pawnbrokers, inn-keepers, and undertakers; or perhaps an occasional shot at a villager's cat. But the best cannot please every body; and even in the case of their own fathers and mothers, young fellows experience different opinions upon their merits. However, this I knew—that I pleased myself: I was backed by an indulgent father, health, spirits, and plenty of money; so, in military phrase, I may say that I was ready primed for mischief, and did not care a doit for the devil.

When I had finished my bottle, and tolerably satisfied myself with repeating over and over the terms of my appointment, in a semi-audible tone, I sallied forth. It was a fine evening in the beginning of July 1809, and town was crammed with military men in mufti. They had, as it seemed to me, even in plain clothes, an air peculiarly striking; and it excited at once my delight and envy to see them stared at by all; but particularly by the ladies, whose glances, to me, from my earliest age, were always bewitching in the extreme. I burned to mingle in the glory, and to share with my now brother-officers, the smiles of the fair; but my sun-burned drab coat, with broad buttons, together with my slouched hat, white Windsor-cord breeches and top-boots, presented an odious barrier to my hopes and desires. O for a military tailor!—

“That great enchanter, at whose rod's command,
Beauty springs forth, and nature's self turns paler;
Seeing how art can make her work more grand,
When she don't pin men's limbs in like a jailor.”

Of course, I soon found one. My first few paces in the Strand brought me in front of a shop-window, within which were profusely displayed braided coats, epaulettes, sword-knots, and brass heel-spurs. I could no more have passed it, without entering, than could the camel of the desert a clear and gushing spring without dipping his nostrils into it. Although particularly directed, both by my father and mother, to order my regimentals from our family tailor, I immediately proceeded to the man of measures, who, at first, eyed me in a careless, tooth-picking sort of way; but when he learned the nature and purport of my visit, he became the most polite and complaisant of tailors.

“I'm an Ensign in the army,” said I, “and I want a suit of uniform for the ——th regiment of the line.”

“Thank you, Captain,” replied he, bowing and fidgetting, “I am much obliged to you, Captain, for the order; and I can assure you, Captain, that I can furnish you with every article of regimentals, of a superior quality, and at the shortest notice—Captain.”

Although I was somewhat disgusted at the first appearance of inattention discovered by the tailor to a man of my rank, (for I thought any body could see I was an officer in the army, even through my sun-burnt coat,) yet his subsequent politeness, and even obsequiousness, joined to my anxiety to put on regimentals for the first time—but, above all, his dubbing me “Captain,” at once determined me to order my appointments from him. I soon concluded the business; my regimentals, complete, were to be ready and on my table at 12 o'clock the following day. Scarlet coat, with swallow tail, yellow facings, white pantaloons, silver lace epaulette, sword, sword-knot, sword-belt, and all, except hat, feather, and boots. But for present purposes, what was to be done? I felt that I ought to have something for that evening to distinguish my rank. A fine braided military frock was hung up at the tailor's door, on which I seized, and forthwith jumped into it.

“Let me assist you, Captain,” said the tailor. “There—what a fit! It was made for Colonel Mortimer, of the Dragoons. Let me button it up to the neck, Captain. There—may I never cut a coat, but it is a superb article, Captain; and as cheap at twelve pounds, as my shears for a penny.”

There was no looking-glass in the shop, and therefore I could not positively be certain as to the truth of what Snip asserted with regard to the “fit.” I must confess, however, that I suspected a wrinkle or two across the shoulders, and the waist was not quite so tight as I could have wished: but then this coat was the only one in the shop; and, as it was too late to look for another, I resolved to keep it on; for, to have given up that night's exhibition of my military importance in the throng at the West-End of the town, would have been an act of self-denial, more becoming a member of the Abbey of La Trappe, than an ensign of one of His Majesty's regiments of the line. Accordingly, I paid the twelve pounds, which produced a double volley of complimentary “Captains” from the tailor, and having been again assured that my regimentals should be punctually sent home next day, I departed.

Whether it arose from the hurry in which I was to launch my first military coat among the loungers that swelled the passages about Leicester Square, Piccadilly, Bond Street, and St. James's, or whether it was from a lack of knowledge of the etiquette of military costume, I do not now recollect; but certain it is, that I quite overlooked the necessity of providing for the nether portion of my person articles of dress corresponding with those which decorated my upper half. When I think of the figure I must have cut, I blush, even to this hour. Yet I know not why I should blush. I am now about seventeen years older, and my vision shows me everything with a far different aspect from what it wore at nineteen. Yet happiness has not increased with years; and objects, although now more perfect to my sight, have lost their former delightful colouring. Perhaps it may be better that eyes thus change their power, and that boys are neither philosophers nor men of the world; if they were, where would be the enviable sweetness of boyhood—that freshness of life, which makes youth laugh at futurity, and which the wisest sage cannot retrospectively contemplate without a sigh?

But to my subject. I proceeded along the Strand, Cockspur Street, Haymarket, and Piccadilly, to the Green Park promenade, with an air of importance perfectly consistent with the occasion: and that my new attire produced a change in the countenances of the crowd was manifest. To my great delight all eyes were on me—every body turned to look after me as I passed; but when I got into the Green Park, and was surrounded by its elegant evening loungers, the remarks made upon me became very insulting: these, however, I set down to the account of envy in the men, and a spirit of flirtation in the ladies. Six or eight fellows of ton followed me in line along the parade, admiring, and envying (as I then thought), the beauty of my braided frock; but, I now believe, with no other view but that of quizzing the oddity of my appearance.—And such an appearance—such incongruity of dress never presented itself in the Green Park either before or since that memorable evening. Had I been downright shabby-genteel (as the phrase is) I might have escaped; but every article upon me was new, “spick and span.”—A highly expensive military coat, of the most abominable fit, down to my ankles, and as wide as a sentry-box, white cord breeches, yellow top-boots, cross-barred Marseilles waistcoat, white cravat, and a most incorrigibly new woolly hat! But the braiding on the coat I thought covered, like charity, a multitude of offences; and I, myself, could see no impropriety whatever in my “turn out.” The line of coxcombs continued to follow, but never ventured to address me directly: they kept up a sort of hedge-fire, which, I confess, a good deal galled me; but, as I said before, if I had not then thought their remarks sprung from pure envy, one or two of them should have gone headlong into the pond by which we walked.

“He's a griffin,” said one.

“Perhaps he's a golok.”

“Not at all,” said another; “the gentleman's a heron just bagged.”

“He belongs to the first regiment of light buldhoons,” muttered a third.

“My life on't, Tom, you're wrong,” rejoined one of the critics; “I'll bet any of you a dozen of Champaigne that he is a thorough-bred horse-marine; you may see that by his jockey boots.”

Thus they went on at intervals during several turns on the walk. All this time my angry feelings were forcibly getting the better of my judgment, and I began to experience a strong desire to come to the point with these gentlemen, and to show them that I was neither a griffin, nor a golok, a heron, nor a horse-marine, but an Ensign in the regular service of his Majesty.

I immediately determined on addressing them; and, in a very few moments, had an opportunity of doing so; for the whole line, arm-in-arm, on our next meeting, attempted to surround me; at which moment I fixed upon the individual who had been most forward in his observations upon me, and a scene of complete confusion followed. I demanded an exchange of cards, but he declined with a sneer, and a horse laugh rung from his companions. I found myself beset on all sides with such a clamour, that I could not have made a word heard, even if I had attempted to do so through a speaking-trumpet.

It was evident that I had no chance of obtaining satisfaction. My assertion that I was an officer in the army was only treated with contempt; and I had no means of finding out the address of any one of my opponents.

I was in the midst of this disagreeable rencontre, when an elderly gentleman, whose weather-beaten front and military air convinced me that he belonged to “the cloth,” took me by the arm, and, leading me aside, asked whether I was really an officer in the service? On my answering in the affirmative, he replied, “I know the young men you disputed with; so make yourself easy, Sir. Walk this way, and let me have your address. I have been an eye-witness of the affair, and you shall have satisfaction to-morrow, I promise you.”

I instantly gave the gentleman my card, thanking him warmly at the same time for the kindness with which he seemed to treat me. He then requested me to retire, and assured me that he would certainly be with me next morning.

I proceeded to my hotel, on the whole not displeased, considering that there was some importance attached to the adventure, and that I had something like a duel already on my hands, although but one day in the service. The idea of a newspaper paragraph setting forth an affair of honour between Ensign B—— of the Line, and Mr. So-and-So, of So-and-so, with a challenge, dated from Slaughter's Coffee House,—an address peculiarly military at that time,—was by no means a displeasing source of reflection; and although I occasionally read myself a different version of the said paragraph, in which the words “mortally wounded” took up an unpleasant position, I slept soundly and dreamt delightfully.

Next morning I was up early, determined to have all things arranged comme il faut before the arrival of my volunteer friend, who was to manage matters for me. The first thing I did was to send for an engraver, in order to have my card-plate prepared, with my rank properly displayed thereon. This I managed to have executed in one hour, on condition of paying five shillings extra for dispatch; although the brazen artizan told me at first his orders were so “numerous” that he feared he could not get the plate done for three days: but a crown has often wonderful effect in altering the minds of people.

Forty cards, duly printed, were on my breakfast-table at half-past nine o'clock, and I think I had almost as much pleasure in reading my rank upon them, as I experienced the evening before in seeing it in the Gazette.

My expected visitor soon entered the room where I was at breakfast, and by his manner I perceived that he was just as warm and determined in my behalf as he was the previous evening. Perfectly frank with me, he inquired into the nature of my family connexions, my age, how long had I been in the service, and other matters. Having satisfied himself upon certain points, he requested me to accompany him to ——, in St. James's Street, whither we immediately proceeded.

The waiter showed us into a private room, and my conductor asked if Mr. **** was yet up. On being informed that he was, and at breakfast, my friend expressed his wish to see him. The waiter withdrew, and returned in a few minutes, with an answer that Mr. **** was sorry he could not be seen for an hour. Upon this, my friend drew forth a card, and desired that it should be given to him immediately; observing, that he wished particularly to see him. The waiter obeyed; and had not been out of the room two minutes, when all the bells in the house seemed to have been set in motion, and the servants began to run to and fro about the lobbies, as if they had all been under the influence of the laughing gas.

Thinks I to myself, the card has had a good effect: and I thought rightly; for in a moment the door of our apartment opened, and the most polite and powdered valet imaginable bowed himself into our presence, to inform us that Mr. **** would wait upon us immediately. Scarcely had he bowed himself out again, when Mr. **** himself, the very man I had singled out the night before, entered.

His demeanour was now completely changed, and his air subdued; the fire of his insolence had burnt out, and a placid ray of the purest sunshine of good humour beamed from his gentlemanly countenance. The very honey of politeness was on his tongue, as he uttered the introductory words, “General, I hope I have not kept you waiting?” By the bye, my importance was not a little swelled on hearing the rank of my friend; yet my gratitude, I felt, swelled higher; for, in proportion to the rank I found him to hold, I felt my sense of his kindness[2] increase.

The General, when all the parties were seated, carelessly threw his right leg across his left knee, and thus addressed Mr. ****. “I have called upon you, Sir, not officially, but as a private individual, in which light I request to be received; and my object in calling, is to demand a satisfactory adjustment of an affair which occurred yesterday evening in the Green Park, in which you took a very prominent part. This is the gentleman, whose feelings you and your companions trifled with so freely on that occasion. Like yourself, he is an officer in the service, and entitled to its privileges and the support of its members. I was an eye-witness of the scene; and, during the many years I have been in the army, I never saw a more wanton insult passed by one officer upon another, than was inflicted upon this unoffending young gentleman last night by you and your party. I am an old officer, Mr. ****, and would wish to prevent quarrelling as much as possible; but in this case an ample apology must be made to this young officer, or he must have another kind of satisfaction.”

At the conclusion of this address, my opponent put on the most engaging smile; and, offering his opened gold snuff-box to the General, replied, as nearly as I can recollect, in the following words:—“I assure you, General, we had been swallowing ‘the enemy’ last night pretty freely, and as freely did he ‘steal away our brains,’ as our immortal Shakspeare says. We were perfectly ambrosial, General—three bottles a man, exclusive of Champagne; and, 'pon my honour, I have but a very faint recollection of what occurred between your friend and us. However, I-a-rather suspect we were rude; but quite unintentionally so, I assure you, General,—had not the slightest idea of any thing in the world but good-humour. Sir, (addressing himself to me,) I beg you will accept my apology. You must, my dear Sir, give me your hand: you shall dine with us to-day,—you must indeed,—six precisely. We take no excuse.”

There was such an air of frank good-nature in this apology, that both the General and myself were highly pleased, and about to express ourselves to that effect, when Mr. **** ran out of the room, calling out “Sir John!”—“Captain Jackson!”—“Williams!”—“Smith!”—and God knows how many names more; and in a moment returned with the identical posse that had attacked me the evening before, each of whom were introduced to us by Mr. ****, and apologized to me as he had done,—a circumstance which appeared to please the General as much as it delighted me.

Thus ended all unpleasant feelings on the matter; and we sat together for about an hour, during which time the General gave us his opinions on the laws of honour, commenting on the impropriety of their violation by officers in the army in particular. Indeed, by what fell from his lips, on that morning, as well as by his conduct in my affair, I am convinced that he was a highly prudent man, who was brave but inoffensive. Had the business been taken up by a hot-headed fire-eating subaltern or Captain, who possessed but a smattering of the laws of honour, I am convinced that a duel must have been the consequence; but instead of taking a “message,” or directing me to send one, the General first sought an explanation, knowing that the offenders did not believe, from the oddity of my appearance, that I was what I wished to be considered; and that it was only necessary to make them sensible of their error, to end the matter satisfactorily.

We separated: the General went to Bath, and I returned to my hotel in St. Martin's Lane. I declined the invitation to dinner which I had received from my apologizing friends; but we nevertheless continued thenceforward on very good terms.

The first thing that greeted my eyes, when I re-entered my hotel, was my suit of regimentals, which the tailor had just laid down at full length upon the table. Never did I behold so beautiful—so ravishing a sight! The coat like silk—scarlet silk; the pantaloons blue as the sky—ethereal blue; the epaulette and lace as bright as the sun—or twenty suns! Price! what was the price to me? I paid the tailor, directly, a part and portion of the price of the suit; he was only waiting (as he said) to fit the articles on; but (as I now think) to receive the amount of his bill—as every prudent tailor ought in such cases to do. However, I cared not about matters of pounds, shillings, and pence: my ideas were upon the intellectual enjoyments of my ensigncy—the glory of my new rank; and tailors or tailors' bills were of no consideration, except as mere mechanical instruments to raise me to my then state of mental elevation. I now only wanted the cocked hat, feather, sash, boots, gloves, sword, and sword-belt, which to procure I knew must absorb at least an hour, or perhaps two, of my valuable time. I therefore requested the tailor (having first paid his bill) to send them to me, which he most willingly promised to do: and he kept his word; for in ten minutes I was in possession of the articles, for which also he was paid. Another ten minutes passed, and I was “armed cap-à-pie,” elegantly fitted—a perfect prodigy of beauty—in my own accommodating imagination!

It would be endless to describe the evolutions, the marches, and the countermarches, which I performed before the looking-glass that day. I nearly wore out my scabbard with drawing and sheathing my sword; I absolutely tarnished my epaulette by dangling the bullion of it, and the peak of my cocked hat was very much ruffled and crushed by practising my intended salutes to the ladies. I dined—in all the happiness of self-important solitude—in full uniform, and unshackled by the presence of strangers to interrupt my admiration of it. When did I enjoy such a day? Never. This was the climax of my hopes; I felt that I was bona fide an officer in the army.

After dinner I wrote short letters to my relations and friends, in which every event of the foregoing twenty-four hours was set forth in my very best style of description; and to each letter, signed with my rank in full, was appended a postscript, requesting the answers to be directed to “Ensign W*** A*** B*** of His Majesty's ——th Regiment of the Line, Old Slaughter's Coffee House, London.” As most of the newspapers of that day contained the military promotions of the night before, I ordered at least sixteen; all of which I enclosed, and sent among my friends at home, by post, that night, having first underlined with red ink the words “Ensign W*** A*** B***, vice Thompson, killed in action,” and put a cross in the margin opposite to the passage.

So little was I acquainted with the usages of London, as they regard officers in the army, that I absolutely went to the theatre that night dressed, as I had dined, in full uniform. I had been in the habit of seeing military officers from time to time, who had been quartered in my native town, dressed generally in their regimentals, not only in the street, but at the theatre and at private parties; and I could not suppose that in London, the capital city, and the head-quarters of the army, there was any other custom whatever observed among officers: on the contrary, I considered that, above all other cities, London was the place in which a man was bound to appear in all his glory.

If I was stared at in the Green Park the night before, I was still more so this night; but although I encountered the gaze and the sneers of hundreds, yet nobody dared to insult me directly. The greatest nuisance was, that the box in which I took my seat was crammed almost to suffocation with the fair sex—so much so, that the whole pit stood up to observe us; and so tightly was I squeezed by these ladies, that not having room to display my figure and dress in a sufficiently graceful posture, I was obliged to sit upright, like a gentleman in a vapour-bath. And indeed the simile bears in another way upon the fact; for I felt all the sudorific effects of vapour-bathing, occasioned partly by the perfume of the ladies, partly by the eternal gaze of the spectators, and partly from the tightness of my stock, sash, and sword-belt. I found very soon that my situation was by no means enviable, and I accordingly removed from the box, to better myself by a walk in the saloon; but here I found matters still worse. I was in a moment surrounded by a myriad of damsels, and about as many dandies—the latter of whom became by far the most annoying. I was literally hustled to and fro without being able to keep my legs, while liberties of every description were taken with my dress: one plucked me by the skirts of my coat; another half-drew my sword, while a third (a tall Irish lady) ran off with my cocked hat, to strut about in it, and burlesque my style of walking, &c. All this was done with the best possible humour on their parts, but as to myself,—I must confess, I was most particularly annoyed, though I found it of no use to appear so: therefore I laughed, or seemed to laugh with my persecutors, like Mirabel in the play. However, I found that a quiet retreat was the most advisable manœuvre, and accordingly seized a favourable opportunity of “bolting in double quick time” out of the theatre, amidst crowds of dirty link boys, who drew the attention of the whole world upon me with “Coach, General”—“Noble Commander”—“Royal Highness,” and the rest, until I found myself absolutely wedged in by a throng of greasy ragamuffins, and the wonder of a hundred passers by. “O curse the regimentals! I wish I were in a sack,” thought I, as I ploughed my way out of the crowd, which I had not distanced many yards, when I was assailed by dozens of drunken stragglers with “heads up, sodger,”—“lobster, hoi!” &c. and was at length absolutely jostled into the gutter by three impudent cheesemongers, from Bread Street, Cheapside. The honour of the profession was fired; “D——!” thought I, “is this fit treatment for one of his Majesty's Ensigns?” so seizing the nearest fellow by the collar, I pulled him, much against his will, over to a watchman, who stood within about a dozen yards of us, and gave him in charge to the man of corners, together with his two comrades, who had followed him closely.

“Charge, Chester, charge.”

Three mouths now opened against me, and insisted on “charging” me! I thought of the dog of hell—the triple-headed monster—as they barked. My blood was boiling; I ordered the watchman to take them instantly to the watch-house, on pain of being next morning reported; but what was my indignation—my almost distraction, at finding the fellow altogether deaf to my command, although I was in regimentals! Instead of taking my assaulters to the judge of the night, he absolutely seized me by the collar, and as he forced me along, roared out something like the following:—

“Oh! by Jasus, man, yir not in the barracks now. Who cares about your ordthers? By my sowl! I'll tache you betther manners, though ya have a red coat upon ya; yar not to be salting the dacent people in the open sthreets. Is it becaise I've lost my eye in the sarvice, that you want to get the blind side o' me?”

“You infernal Cyclops!” returned I, “you cannot see plainly with the one that is left to you.”

Remonstrance was useless. I put, not only my powers of speech in the fullest action, but also my powers of muscle: all in vain—four pair of arms pulling at one coat, are too much for any body. I was absolutely trotted off to the watch-house. Here I expected to obtain ample satisfaction for the injury I had sustained, and with this feeling addressed the “Commanding officer”—a fellow with a huge red-cabbage face, a pot of porter before him, a pipe in his hand, and a rabbit-skin cap on his greasy head. I told my story in very few words; but dwelt with “becoming warmth” upon the manner in which justice was administered by the men of lanterns and rattles, and concluded with a severe philippic against the watch department in general. I demanded that the watchmen, as well as the three men who had caused the confusion, should be locked up forthwith. Whether it was my natural powers of speech, or my all powerful energy of voice and manner, which procured for me this hearing, I cannot tell—but I have to regret the privilege; for my address, so far from being relished by the constable, inclined him, I think, to lend a more favourable ear to my adversaries; and his bias inclined still more towards them, when they appealed to him as “the representative of magistracy.” In short, they had it all their own way, and old Dogberry, in accordance with the feelings excited in him, by abuse on the one side, and flattery on the other, declared against me.

“This here thing,” said he, “is a conspiracy against these three respectable men, and that 'ere vatchman; but it 'ont do. You see, you comes and you 'tacks these here people a going to their perspective homes, as honest citizens should. What are you, gemmen?” (To the cheesemongers.)

“We are gentlemen in the city,” replied the “spokesman” of the triumvirate.

“What's your names?” inquired the constable.

“John Stilton,” was the reply.

“John Stilton! eh! what—of Green, Stilton, Mite, and Co.?” exclaimed the constable.

“Yes, the same, and these two gentlemen are my partners.”

The constabulary tobacco-pipe was now withdrawn from its office, and an additional importance diffused itself over the features of the presiding judge, as he recognized the firm of Messrs. Green, Stilton, Mite, and Company.

“I know the house well,” said he; “and as spectable as any in the parish of Botolph. The commerce of London is not to be insulted by the milentary. So I tell ye vat, Master, (addressing me,) you must be locked up. Who are you? What's your name?”

“Oh!” exclaimed one of the cheesemongers, “he's a drum-major in the Wolunteers.”

This was “the most unkindest cut of all;” it perfectly silenced me. The only reply I could make, was to throw down my card indignantly, which Dogberry took up, and after gazing gravely upon it, exclaimed, “He's a Hinsign, I see: But if he was the sarjeant-major himself, he shall not escape public contribution. I'll take care he's made a proper sample of; so now, gemmen, you are all at liberty to proceed to your peaceful homes, and leave this red-herring to be managed by me. I'll larn him, that he sha'n't come out of a night with his feathers, and his flipper flappers, and his red coat, to kick up a bobbery with the people. Ve dont vant sodgers in London—thank God! ve can do without 'em. Ve vant no milentary govament here, my lad; and if you come amongst us, vy you must leave off your implements o' var, and behave like a spectacle abitant. The sodgers, I say, ought to be pulled up, for they are a d——d impudent set; tickerly the guards: they try to come it over us venhever they have a tunity; but I'll let them know vhat's vhat, and larn them how to bemean themselves. So here you stop, young man, for this here night.”

At the conclusion of this constitutional harangue, the cheesemongers departed, laughing at me in the most provoking manner. The mortification I felt, was indescribable. I threatened, stormed, and strutted, but all to no purpose; I only received fresh insults. At last it was hinted to me by one of the watchmen, who was inclined to indulge in a little repose, that if I would send for a respectable housekeeper, I might be bailed; and though this kindness evidently arose from a wish to get rid of me, on account of the noise I created, I availed myself of the privilege, and immediately sent to the landlord of my hotel, who soon appeared, and I was liberated.

This evening's adventure gave me ample food for rumination, and I chewed my cud upon it half the night. I felt thoroughly ashamed of my folly, in having displayed my gaudy suit of regimentals, when I plainly perceived, that custom was so decidedly against it: but—experientia docet. I next morning locked up my uniform, and determined never to wear it, until I joined my regiment.

There has been a great deal said about the “privileges” of the City of London, in reference to the appearance of soldiers in its streets; and some, who rank high in the republic of letters, have spun out many fine periods upon the subject; but I must confess myself sceptical enough to think, that all this is “leather and prunella;” though, I maintain, that I am neither inimical to civil nor religious liberty. In despite of “liberal” cant, I must always opine, that the appearance of regimental uniforms in London, (so long as they are British,) can never either endanger the liberty of the subject, or disgrace the good people of the metropolis. I allow, that no officer of good sense or good taste would dress in regimentals, while sojourning in London, and absent from his regiment; but I cannot see why the inhabitants assume it as almost a right, to exclude the appearance of uniforms, if individuals in the service choose to wear them. The household troops, foot-guards, &c. on the King's duty, in London, appear in regimentals with impunity; but if an officer who is doing duty with his regiment, at Woolwich, or Deptford, or Hounslow, or any other place near London, has occasion to visit the metropolis, he must either go in plain clothes, or submit to ridicule, if he ventures to appear amongst the cockneys in his professional dress. Habit is a powerful master, and if this intolerance of military and naval uniforms becomes a general prejudice, it cannot be fairly argued against; but when a metropolitan magistrate declares, in his public seat, that such uniforms must not appear in London,[3] there is something more than habit in it. Are the people of London afraid of officers belonging to their own regiments? This they cannot reasonably be, for such officers are subordinate to the civil power. Are they ashamed of them? This belief cannot be for a moment entertained; therefore, let there be no more talk of “privileges:” and if either duty or taste direct an officer to wear his uniform in the public places or streets of the metropolis, let him be scrutinized only by the same rule, that would guide our opinions upon the black gown of a lawyer or the shovel-hat of a clergyman.

Although reflections similar to these occupied me during the greater part of the night which gave occasion to them, yet the view I took of the matter at that time, was widely different from that which I now take; for I then thought, that the man who was entitled to wear a regimental uniform, should exhibit it on all occasions, even when out shooting. No man ever went to sleep more mortified and chagrined than I did, from my reflections on what had past. The thing had one good effect, however; which was, that it started me off from London, and thereby, perhaps, saved me from more sleepless nights. I went by coach next day to Brighton; and in six hours was at the head-quarters of my regiment.

I reported myself to the commanding officer, Colonel ——, who in the most cordial and frank manner, invited me to dine with him at the mess that day; sent for the Quartermaster, and settled me at once in my barrack-room. He next assigned to me a servant from the ranks, introduced me to all the officers of the regiment, and with one of the Captains took my arm, and walked out to show me the lions of Brighton. All this attention from the commanding officer, was duly appreciated by me. I felt already fascinated with my regiment, and with good reason, for this commanding officer was very different in his conduct towards the junior officers, from many I have since had occasion to serve under. He was the father of his corps; of the most strict, impartial, and inflexible character in all matters of duty; but a friend and companion, without severity or unnecessary exactness when duty was done; he was, in short, a perfect model of the officer and the gentleman.

For two hours previous to dinner, that is to say, from four 'till six o'clock, I employed myself in going through a set of practical evolutions before my looking-glass, in full regimentals, and even when warned by the striking up of

“O the roast beef of old England,”

I had not quite concluded.

I proceeded to the mess-room, and was placed on the right hand of the Colonel, who that day happened to be president. Except on the announcement of my appointment in the Gazette, I never felt such exultation, as when I found myself seated at the mess-table, surrounded by about thirty officers: my appetite was completely gone; I took soup and almost every other thing offered me, but tasted scarcely any thing except wine; indeed of this I partook pretty liberally, for every member of the table requested “the honour,” &c. and in about one hour I had swallowed, on a rough calculation, about thirty half glasses of pale sherry—ergo, a full bottle.

Now were the pleasures of a regimental mess completely developed before me, and my mind most exquisitely prepared for the enjoyment of them, in which preparation my thirty half glasses of sherry exerted not a little influence. The fine appearance of the officers, the splendour of the full-dress uniforms in the blaze of the wax lights, the excellence of the dinner, the attention of the servants, the merry and gentlemanly conversation of the party, the diversified beauty of the music from our band without, the whole crowned by the affability of our commanding officer, rendered the scene to a young military enthusiast the most delightful that can be imagined; and, indeed, to any military man, what can be a more charming place than the mess-room of a united corps of officers? It is the home, the happiest home, perhaps, of its members; and its enjoyments serve to compensate for the rougher endurances of a military life. In a properly regulated mess, indeed, the very best enjoyments of refined society are to be found.

The wine went round, I talked to every body, and every body talked to me; with the old Captains, who “had seen service,” I talked of the Indian and American wars; to the pipe-clay Adjutant,—of drills and field days; to the Surgeon—of wounds and hospitals; to the Paymaster—of cash and accounts; to the Quartermaster—of beef and clothing: with all I was at home, and from all I bore a joke or two on my newcome situation with genuine patience, nay, with some degree of pleasure. On the whole, I was pretty well au fait, till the time when the non-commissioned officers came in to hand round the order-book for inspection. At first, when they entered in line, and faced about with the salute, I thought they were singers specially brought in for the amusement of the mess, and was listening for a glee or a song from them, when one approached my chair, and placed before me, in his right hand, the order-book, which I conceived to be the song or music-book to serve as a reference while the singers performed their duty, and took it out of the sergeant's hand, coolly placing it before me. A smile and a stare from every face were directed at me, and in a few moments a general titter went round, which threw me into no little confusion. The sergeant now in a low tone said to me, “The orders, Sir.”

“Oh!” replied I, “it is all the same to me, what you sing; the Colonel here will give you the orders.”

The stiffly screwed countenance of the sergeant, in spite of his efforts, relaxed into a smile, and a loud burst of laughter rung round the table, in which I very good-humouredly joined, when I learned my mistake from the president.

The mess broke up about half-past eleven o'clock, with a bumper to the new member—three times three—and the Colonel withdrew, as did the Captains and most of the Lieutenants, leaving me in company with three jolly Subs, like myself, very little inclined for “balmy sleep.” At their proposal, we sallied forth, and after a serenade or two of the most transcendent nature beneath some windows, better known to my companions than to me, we proceeded to “finish” the evening. The particulars of our proceedings I almost forget, and therefore must let them rest in the tomb of all the devilries.

The next day I may consider to have been my first appearance in public as a PROPERLY authenticated officer in the army. I stood upon the parade fully equipped, and with my regiment. During all the time, I might as well have been in the pillory—nothing relieved me but pulling on and off my gloves, fixing my cravat, and playing with my sword-knot. I formed one of those whom the admiring crowd gazed at. I was saluted every where by passing soldiers, and I gratified my vanity in this point, by repeatedly walking past the sentries on duty at the Palace, to hear them slap the butt-ends of their muskets, as they “carried arms” to compliment me. I was gazed at on the Steyne by the most captivating eyes—I was smiled at in the Library by the most fascinating faces—lovely lights gleamed on me from balconies, barouches, and donkeys' backs—pelisses flounced, and feathers waved for me—I was somebody, I was everybody—there was nobody in the world but me—myself! at least I saw no one else worth a moment's consideration, except as far as their admiration of me was concerned. I never ate so many ices and jellies in my life; not for the love my appetite bore to such confections, but the lounge—the graceful halo which the discussion of an ice throws round the military figure in a pastry-cook's shop is every thing: It was delightful! and as to paying, I paid for all my friends; who, to say the truth of them, were obliging enough to assist in the ceremony as often as I pleased. Of course, many agreeable ladies were present at these happy displays, who, with a lee-tle persuasion (bless their modesty!) did their parts remarkably well. The intervals of lounging thus about the town, the cliffs, &c. were filled up by billiards—at which game I delighted to play, merely because I could not play, but fancied myself, like smatterers in all arts and sciences, a “pretty considerable” sort of performer. I, however, got a few good lessons, which, although I did not profit by, yet they served the purpose of enabling me to pass an idle hour, and to set off my pecuniary advantages in a proper manner. I lost some pounds at this “amusement” as it is called; but I had received a good stock of cash from my father on my appointment, for I believe the “old boy” was as much delighted with my ensigncy as I was myself, and would spare nothing to forward his son's interests in life, and enable him to support the dignity of his situation. Heaven help the worthy man! interest and dignity indeed! It would have been much better for me, and for himself, that he had confined his liberality to furnishing me with necessaries only, and obliged me to live on my pay.

Before I had been three days at Brighton, my purse was in a rapid consumption, and the air of that fashionable watering-place was in no way calculated to recover it from the effects of the shock it had received in London. I beheld it dwindling to a shadow; and what was worse, there was no soothing restorative in the hands of its physicians, Doctors Greenwood and Cox, of Craig's Court, London. In consequence of this decay of my purse, I passed Sunday in rather a sombre mood, and, with the exception of marching to church with my regiment, I had nothing to lighten the forenoon. In this disposition I sat down to write to all my friends, and in the descriptions, wherein I detailed to them my proceedings, lived my time in the service over again. I described my setting out from London “to join”—my arrival at the barracks—reporting myself to the commanding officer—my servant—my preparations for the mess—mess drums and fifes—the dinner—thirty honours of wine—the band (not a word about the “singers” and their books)—our serenade—my first parade—my attendance of officers' drills—mode of saluting with the sword at the “present”—account of orders for marching to embark for Spain (this we only expected at the regiment)—a sentimental adieu, and injunctions in case I should fall—heroism and glory—England and his Majesty! In short, I wrote from one till six that day, and not less than half a dozen letters. In the last, which was to my father, I did not forget the main point—I spoke of finance in such a way, that I received in return three sides of a sheet of paper closely written and crossed, containing, however, a handsome remittance, which happily arrived just as I concluded my FIRST WEEK IN THE SERVICE.

THE SOLDIER'S ORPHAN.

“Heu! miserande puer!”—Virgil.

Amongst soldiers—men whose habits of life are almost in direct opposition to social and domestic enjoyment—who are strangers every where, and whose profession is to destroy their fellow-men, it is astonishing what tenderness and amiability of disposition are frequently to be met with. If a comrade dies and leaves a widow; or if an object of distress presents itself to a regiment—such as a poor traveller, unable to proceed from illness or want, a subscription is immediately set on foot, and although a few pence from each be the extent of the alms, yet, with men whose pay is so limited, it bears the credit of a considerable gift: but it is not the amount of the subscription I have looked to most; it is the generous promptitude with which the measure is adopted. Nor are such the greatest marks of tenderness in the soldier: oftentimes has it occurred, that an orphan has been left in a regiment, and the child has either been supported and domiciled with the company to which its father belonged, or a single soldier has undertaken the care of it. I believe one remarkable instance occurred immediately after the battle of Waterloo—the infant was discovered under the carriage of a field-piece. Another is, I believe, at this moment to be found either in the 76th or 79th Regiment. That which fell under my own observation I will relate; and I think it affords undoubted proof of the kindest and most amiable heart.

At the battle of Talavera, a soldier, who had his wife, and a child about two years and a half old, at the regiment with him, was killed. His death weighed heavily at the heart of the woman, and together with a severe cold caught in marching, produced a fever which terminated in her death. Her infant, thus left fatherless and motherless, became an interesting object of pity. The officers of the regiment took measures for its protection, and placed the boy in the care of a woman belonging to their own regiment. This woman, however, was a drunkard, and the comrade of the deceased father, perceived that she neglected the child. He reported this to the officers, and they determined to remove it; but on examination it was found that there was no other woman in the regiment who had claims to be trusted more than the person with whom the child already was. Indeed, there are but few women permitted to take the field with the soldiers; and these, in general, are not only intemperate, but blunted in their feelings by their own privations.

The comrade, finding much difficulty in providing a nurse for the child, declared that he would sooner undertake the care of him himself until an opportunity of better disposing of him should occur, as he felt convinced that the poor infant would be lost, if suffered to remain with the woman under whose care he then was.

There was no objection made to this, so the soldier immediately took charge of the child. And well he acquitted himself in his responsibility: he regularly washed, dressed, and fed the little fellow, every morning; he would clamber over the hills and procure goats' milk for him, when even the officers could not obtain that luxury; and although not much of a cook, would boil his ration-meat into a nutritive jelly, as scientifically as the best of them, for the child. In less than two months, the little campaigner was very different in appearance from that which he exhibited when first taken in charge of the soldier; and he became a rosy-faced, chubby, hardy little hero, as ever bivouacked on the hills of Portugal.

Month after month passed away, during which the regiment often moved about. Upon the march the soldier always found means of procuring a seat for the child upon one of the baggage mules; and he now became so interesting to all who knew him, that little difficulty in obtaining transport for him was to be met with. One time a muleteer would take the boy before him on his macho, or place him between two sacks or casks, upon the animal's back, and gibber Spanish to him as he jogged along; at other times he would find a seat on some officers' baggage, or “get a lift” in the arms of the men; nobody would refuse little Johnny accommodation whenever he needed it. So far I heard from a soldier of the division in which the child was protected. What follows I witnessed myself.

After the battle of Busaco, which was fought in the year following that of Talavera, the army retreated over at least one hundred and fifty miles of a country the most difficult to pass; steep after steep was climbed by division after division, until the whole arrived within the lines of Torres Vedras. The whole of this march, from the mountains of Busaco to the lines, was a scene of destruction and misery, not to the army, but to the unhappy population. Every pound of corn was destroyed, the wine-casks were staved, and the forage was burnt; the people in a flock trudging on before the army, to shelter themselves from the French, into whose hands, had they remained in their houses, they must have fallen. Infants barely able to walk; bedridden old people; the sick, and the dying—all endeavouring to make their way into Lisbon; for which purpose all the asses and mules that they could find were taken with them, and the poor animals became as lame as their riders by a very few days' marches. It was a severe measure of Lord Wellington's thus to devastate the country which he left behind him, but, like the burning of Moscow, it was masterly; for Massena being thus deprived of the means of supplying his army, was soon obliged to retrace his steps to Spain, pursued in his turn by the British, and leaving the roads covered with his starving people and slaughtered horses.

Amidst this desolation I first saw the little hero of whom I write. I had been with the rear-guard of the division, and was approaching Alhandra, when I observed four or five men standing on a ridge, in the valley through which we were passing. One of them ran towards me, and said that there was a man lying under a tree a little way off the road, beside a stream, and that he was dying. A staff-surgeon was close by; I told him the circumstance, and we immediately proceeded to the spot. There we beheld a soldier lying upon his back, his head resting against a bank, his cap beside him and filled with water as if he had been drinking out of it. Beside the man sat a fine boy, of about three years' old, his little arms stretched across him. The child looked wistfully at us. We asked him what he was doing there? but, from fright and perhaps confusion at seeing us all intent upon questioning him he only burst into tears. The surgeon examined the man, and found he was lifeless, but still warm. I asked the child, if the man was his father? he said he was; but to any further questions he could only lisp an unintelligible answer. The surgeon thought the man had died of fatigue, probably from marching while under great debility or sickness. I asked the boy, if he had walked with his father that day? and he replied, that he did not, but had been carried by him.

At this moment the last of the division was passing up the hill, and the French columns appeared about half a mile behind. There was nothing to be done but to remove the child, and leave the dead man as he was. I directed the soldiers to do so, and to bring him along with them. They accordingly went over to the boy, to take him away from the body; but he cried out, while tears rolled from his eyes, “No, no! me stay wi' daddy!—me stay wi' daddy!” and clung his little arms about the dead soldier with a determined grasp. The men looked at each other; we were all affected in the same way; I could see the tears in the hardy fellows' eyes. They caressed him; they promised that his father should go also; but no, the little affectionate creature could not be persuaded to quit his hold. Force was necessary; the men drew him away from the body; but the child's cries were heart-rending: “Daddy! daddy! daddy! dear, dear, daddy!” Thus he called and cried, while the men, endeavouring to sooth him, bore him up the hill just as the enemy were entering the valley. This was little Johnny, and the dead man was his father's kind, good-hearted comrade, who perhaps hastened his own death in carrying the beloved little orphan.

NIGHTS IN THE GUARD-HOUSE.
No. I.

“See yonder, round a many-colour'd flame,
A merry club is huddled all together;
Even with such little people as sit there
One would not be alone.”
Goëthe.

“Who goes there?”

“Rounds.”

“What rounds?”

“Grand rounds.”

“Stand, grand rounds—advance one and give the countersign.”

“Waterloo.”

“Pass, grand rounds: all's well.”

Splash went the steed, and patter went the rain, as the above dialogue rapidly passed between the officer of the rounds and the advanced sentry of Ballycraggen guard-house, one stormy night in the depth of December, and in the midst of the Wicklow mountains.

“Guard, turn out!” instantly bellowed with true Highland energy, from the lungs of Sergeant M'Fadgen, and echoed quickly by those of Corporal O'Callaghan, increased the panic to its climax, and broke up the circle of story-tellers who were enjoying themselves round a huge turf fire, and, for aught yet known, a bottle of pure potyeen. “Guard, turn out!” repeated the corporal, as he upset, in his haste to obey, the stool on which he sat, as well as the lance-corporal and a fat private who occupied one end of it; but notwithstanding these little embarrassments, both men and musquets were out of the guard-house in a twinkling—silent, and as steady in line as the pillars of the Giants' Causeway.

The officer's visit did not last many seconds, for the night was too wet, and nothing had occurred with the guard worth his particular notice: off he galloped, and the clatter of his horse's hoofs was almost drowned in the word of command given by Sergeant M'Fadgen, as he returned the guard; for the Sergeant always made it a point, when giving the word within the hearing of an officer, to display the power of his non-commissioned lungs in the most laudable manner.

The arms were speedily laid down, and each man ran to take up his former position at the fire, or perhaps to secure a better, if permitted to do so by the rightful owner: this, however, was, as regarded the stools, without any reference whatever to the sergeant's seat—an old oak chair, which he leisurely, gravely, and consequentially resumed.

“The Major was in a hurry to-night, Sargeant,” observed Corporal O'Callaghan, as he fixed himself at the front of the fire, elbowing his supporters right and left.

“The Major's nae fool, Corporal; it's a cauld an' a raw naight,” replied the Sergeant.

“Could, did ya say, Sergeant,” returned O'Callaghan; “By the powers o' Moll Kelly! he knocks fire enough out o' the wet stones to keep both him and the baste warm: I could ha' lit my pipe with it when he started off.”

“Aweel, he's done his duty as effectally as if he had stopped an hoor; so dinna fash, but gi' us that story you were jist commencing afore the turn-oot.”

“Yes, yes, the story, Corporal!”—“Give us the story;”—“That's the thing, my boy;”—“Let us have it.” These, and a dozen similar requests followed the Sergeant's, from the men of the guard; when, after the due quantity of hems, haws, and apologies, usual in all such cases, Corporal O'Callaghan commenced the following

STORY OF MARIA DE CARMO.

“Well! if yiz will have the story, I suppose I must tell it:—Maria de Carmo, you see, is a Portuguese name, as you Redmond, and you Tom Pattherson knows well: for it's often you saw the self-same young girl I'm going to tell about; and as purty a crature she was as ever stept in shoe leather,—a beautiful and as sweet a young blossom as the sun ever shone upon, with her black curls, and her white teeth, set just like little rows of harpsichord kays; and her eyes, and her lips, and her ancles! O! she bet all the girls I ever saw in either Spain or Portugal; that you may depend upon. Well, Harry Gainer was her sweetheart; poor fellow! he was my comrade for many a long day. You knew him well, Sargeant.”

“I listed the lad mysel at Waterford, aboot this time ten years, as near as poossible; an' a gay callant he was,” said M'Fadgen; and then with an important sigh resumed his pipe.

“Well, Harry and I went out with the rigiment from Cork to Lisbon in 1810, and it was in March; for we spent our Patrick's Day aboord, and drowned our shamrock in a canteen of ration rum, just as we were laving sight o' Ireland: and we gave the counthry three cheers on the forecastle—the whole lot of us together, sailors an' all, as the green hills turned blue, an' began to sink away from our sight. We had a fine passage, an' landed at a place called the Black Horse Square, in Lisbon, afther only six days' sailing, as hot and as fine a day, although in March, as one of our July days here. Well—to make a long story short, we made no delay, but, according to ordthers, were embarked aboord the boats, and sailed up the Tagus to Villa Franca (as pretty a river as ever I sailed in), and then the rigiment marched on to Abrantes, where we halted: it was in this town that Harry first met with Maria de Carmo. Both he and I were quarthered at her father's house, a nice counthry sort of place, what the Portuguese call a Quinta, in the middle of a thick wood of olives, on the side o' the high hill of Abrantes. You could see from the door fifty miles and more, over beautiful blue mountains on one side; an' on the other side, across the Tagus, a fertile, cultivated counthry, with the fine wide river itself, like a looking-glass, wandering away—God knows where. O, it was as purty a spot as any in Ireland, I'm sure, barrin' the town itself; and that was a dirty, narrow hole of a place, on the very top o' the high hill,—yet it was fortified all round, as if it was worth living in. The streets are so narrow that you could shake hands out o' the windows with the opposite neighbours. There's a bit of a square, to be sure, or Praça, as they call it, but that's not worth mentioning. The fact is, I often thought that the town of Abrantes was like a big dunghill in the middle o' Paradise.

“We halted here about a month, during which time Gainer was always looking afther this young girl; and faith! he hadn't much throuble to find her any day, for she was just as fond of looking afther him. I often met them both sthrolling up along the side o' the river, like two turtle doves, billing and cooing, and I could ha' tould how the matther would have gone, in two days afther we arrived; for, 'pon my sowl I don't know how it is, but when a young couple meets, that's made for one another, there is such an atthraction, an' such a snaking toward this way an' that way, that they are always elbowing and jostling, 'till they fall into each other's arms.

“Poor Harry was a warm-hearted sowl as ever was born, and as honourable, too. He came to me the night before we marched from Abrantes for Elvas, and says he to me (we were just outside the town, taking a bit of a walk in an orange garden), says he, ‘Tom,’ an' the poor fellow sighed enough to brake his heart; ‘Tom,’ says he, ‘I don't know what to do with that girl; the rigiment marches to-morrow, and God knows will I ever see her again. She wants to come with me, unknown to her parents.’ ‘An' will you take her?’ says I.—‘Take her, Tom,’ says he; ‘is it an' she, the only child of the good-natured ould man that behaved so well to us? The Lord forbid! I'd sooner jump off this hill into the river than I'd lade a sweet and innocent young girl asthray, to brake the heart o' her father.’

“Och, I knew well, before I mintioned it, that Harry's heart was in the right place.—‘Well,’ says I, ‘you must only lave her, poor thing; it's betther nor take her with you. But what does her father say?’ ‘O,’ says Harry, ‘the poor man would be willing enough to let her marry me if I was settled; but although he likes me so much, he knows well that this is no time for marriages with soldiers.’ ‘Well, then, Harry,’ says I, ‘there's no manner o' use in talking; you must only give her a lock o' your hair and a parting kiss,—then God speed you both.’

“With that we went back to our quarthers, an' took share of a canteen o' wine; but although Harry drank, I saw it was more for the dthrowning of his throubles, and the sake of conversation about Maria, than for any liking he had to licker. But faith! I'm sure, although I'm no great hand at it myself, I think a glass on such an occasion as that, when the heart o' the poor fellow was so full, an' my own not very empty, an' when we were going to march from the town we spent some pleasant hours in, was a thing that if a man could not enjoy, he ought to be thrown behind the fire, as a dthry chip.

“We were just finishing the last glass, when the ould man, our Patroa, Signior Jozé, came to say that we must ate a bit o' supper with him, as it was our last night in the place; and although I didn't undtherstand much o' the language, yet he explained himself well enough to make us know that he was in the right earnest o' good-nature. We had no more wine to offer him, at which he smiled, and pointed to the parlour below,—‘La esta bastante,’ says he; which manes there's enough below stairs, my boys. We went down to supper, which was a couple of Galinias boas, or in plain English, roast fowls,—an' soup: with oranges of the best quality, just plucked out of the ould man's garden. Maria was with us, an' I don't think I ever passed a pleasanter night. God knows whether it was so with Harry an' his sweetheart or not; I believe it was a sort o' mixture. They were both not much in the talking way, an' Maria looked as if she had a hearty male o' crying before she sat down to supper. However, I kept up the conversation with Jozé, though I was obliged to get Harry to interpret for me often enough, as he was a far betther hand at the Portuguese than I was, from always discoursing with Maria—faith! in larning any language there's nothing like a walking dictionary;—that is to say, a bit of a sweetheart.

“Signior Jozé gave us a terrible account o' the French when they came to Abrantes first; an' all he feared was, that ever they should be able to make their way there again. He hoped he would never see the day, on account of his dear Maria, for they nather spared age nor sex in the unfortunate counthry.

“‘They call themselves Christians,’ says he, ‘and the English infidels; but actions, afther all, are the best things to judge by: the sign o' the cross never kept a devil away yet; if so, there should not have been such a Legion of them here along with the French, for we had crosses enough.’

“Jozé was a liberal man in his opinions, an' although a Catholic, an' more attached to Harry an' me from professing the same religion, yet he was not like the bigots of ould, that I read of; but one that looked upon every faith in a liberal light. He was for allowing every man to go to the devil his own way.”

“I dinna ken but Jozé was raight,” drily remarked Sergeant M'Fadgen; to the truth of which observation a general admission was given by all the fire-side listeners.

“Well, we broke up about one o'clock purty merry, but not at all out o' the way; and as we had to march, a little after day-brake, I thought three or four hours' rest would do us no harm: so I wouldn't let the Patroa open another bottle. Harry looked a little out o' sorts at my preventing him; but I knew what he was at—he didn't want the dthrink; but just to keep sitting up with the girl: therefore I thought it betther to go; for he an' she would have been just as loth to part if they had been six weeks more together without stopping.

“Next morning we turned out at day-brake; an' faith! Harry might as well have staid up all night for the sleep he got—he looked the picture of misery and throuble. We had our rations sarved out the day before; but faith! we did not want much o' that—Harry and I; for Jozé had stuffed our haversacks with every spacies of eatables.

“We mustherd in the square or market-place,—mules and all, by four o'clock, and at half-past four we marched off to the chune o' Patrick's Day, upon as fine a band as ever lilted; which, in the middle o' foreign parts, as I was, made me feel a little consated, I assure you. The rigiment was followed by a crowd of Portuguese, as far as the bridge over the Tagus where we crossed. Poor devils! the band didn't seem to make them look pleasanter; they were like as if they suspected we were not certain of keeping the French out long.

“Just as the light company was moving on to the bridge, (Harry and I belonged to the light company,) we halted a few minutes, and he fell out to spake a parting word to Maria an' her father, who were both waiting then at the bridge. Her mantilia a'most covered her face; but still I saw the tears rowling down her cheeks, poor girl, like rain. In a few moments the column moved on, and Harry was obliged to fall in. We both shook hands with the ould father—Harry kissed his sweetheart, and we marched on over the bridge. But to make a long story short, our rigiment remained at Elvas about three months, when the French began to attack us, and we retrated upon Abrantes. This was the time that they boasted of going to dthrive us into the sea, clane out o' Portugal; but by my sowl the Mounseers never were more mistaken in their lives. Well, we hadn't hard from Maria for two months, and I remember it was late in the evening when we entehred Abrantes on our retrate. Harry and I didn't want to taste bit or sup till we went down to ould Jozé's house, and there we larnt that he died of a faver six weeks afore: poor ould man! I was sorry to hear it, an' so was Harry—very sorry indeed. We inquired about the daughther, an' hard that she was living with a particular friend of her father's, at the other end o' the town. We soon found her out, although she was denied to us at first by an ould woman; but faith! a nice-looking young lad, dressed like a pysano, or counthry-boy, with a wide black hat an' red worsted sash on him, came out driving along, and threw his arms round Harry's neck, hugging an' kissing him. By my sowl! the boy was herself, sure enough. The fact is, Maria had dthressed herself up like a boy, fearful that the French would ill use her when they came into the town; an' they expected them from report, two days before. Faith! an' so they would, I'd warrant ye; for they never showed much mercy to a purty girl once in their power.

“The people with which Maria now lived, were good cratures, and as fond of her as if she was their own. They insisted upon us stopping with them, although there was six soldiers more in the house. A good room was provided for us, an' every thing comfortable. Harry and Maria made much o' their time; but I was obliged to go on the baggage-guard, so left them to themselves. Next morning, at day-light, we were all undther arms, and marched out o' the town towards Punhete. We were the rear-guard, and as we expected the advanced guard of the French up, we were prepared to give 'em a good morning: the baggage was all on, an hour before. Sure enough the enemy hung on our rare the whole day, and towards night our company had a bit of a brush with 'em.

“But I forgot to tell ya, that as we left the town of Abrantes, in the dusk o' the morning, and the column was moving down the hill, the mist was so thick I could hardly see Harry, although so close to my elbow; but I hard him discoursing a little with a Portuguese that walked beside him. ‘When did you lave Maria,’ says I.—‘Hush, man,’ says he, ‘she's here.’—‘O, by the Powers!’ says I again, ‘Harry, my boy, you did right, for she'd be desthroyed by these thundthering French beggars.’—‘For God's sake!’ says Harry, ‘then don't let on to mortyal man anything about it: she can be with us until I can get her down to her friends in Lisbon.’ I made no reply, but just put out my hand to Maria, who was close to Harry, an' I shook hands with her. ‘O, my honey!’ says I, ‘you'll be as good a little soldier as any in the division: take a dthrop out o' this canteen.’ Poor thing! she smiled and seemed happy, although we had no great prospects of an asy life of it, for a few days at laste. She wouldn't taste the rum, of coorse, but with the best humour in the world, pulled out a tin bottle and dthrank a little of its contents, which I saw was only milk.

“The mist began to rise above us by this time, and the sun threw out a pleasant bame or two, to warm us a bit; for the men were all chilly with the djew. In a very few minets, the walking and the canteens produced a little more talk along the line o' march, and we seemed as merry as a bag o' flays, cracking our jokes all along; although a squadthron o' blue bottles was plain enough to be seen, on their garrons, through the bushes on the top o' the hill behind us; but divel a toe they daared come down. Well! we arrived at Punhete, about one o'clock, and afther ating some beef, just killed and briled on a wooden skewer; and washing it down with a canteen o' wine; the division crossed the river Se hairy,[4] an' encamped on the other side in green tents: that is, good wholesome branches o' cork, chesnut, olive, and orange threes waving purtily over our heads. Dy you remember the night, Pattherson? Dy you, Redmond?”

“Yes, faith! we do,” says Patterson; “and that was the first time I saw Maria, though I then thought she was a boy.”

“Well, I'll never forget that night as long as I live. There we were, Harry, and Maria, and myself, undther a three, with a ratling fire blazing away before us. We gave our blankets to the girl when the men were asleep, and I got plenty of India corn straw, which is like our flaggers, an' made up a good bed for her, an' stuck plenty o' branches into the bank over her, to keep off the djew. There she slept, poor sowl! while Harry and I sat at the fire, until we fell asleep, discoursing o' one thing or other. We had some grapes an' bread, an' a thrifle o' wine which I got in the town on the way (becaise I had a look out for a dthry day), upon which the whole of us faisted well.

“When the girl fell asleep, Harry towld me all about her coming away with him. Says he, ‘Tom, you're my only friend in the regiment that I would confide in, and if I fall I request you will do what's right for that poor dear girl, just the same as a sisther.’ ‘Don't talk about falling,’ says I, ‘till you're dead in earnest. God forbid ya should ever lave us without falling in with a few score o' the French scoundthrels and giving them their godsend.’

“‘Well,’ says he, ‘Tom there's no knowing any of our fates, so God bless you, do as I bid you.’ (I shook his hand, and it was in thrue friendship too. I didn't spake; but he knew what I meant.) ‘She has got most respectable friends in Lisbon, and here's the adthress—“Rua de Flores, Lisbōa.”’ I took the paper, and put it up in the inside breast-pocket o' my jacket, where I kept my will in case I was settled; for I had a thrifle which I wished my mother and sisther to get in case of accident; an' by my sowl, there was plenty o' rason to expect it, for the report was that the French was coming up in very great force. ‘Tom,’ says he, ‘that sweet girl sleeping there, is as dear to me as my life; an' dearer too. I'll take care of her, plase God, until I bring her to her friends; now that her father is dead and she's an orphan, she shall be to me only as a sisther, until we get to Lisbon, an' then she shall be my wife. Therefore, stand by me, Tom, in protecting her on the march. In the dthress she now wears, she will pass as a muleteer of our division, and not rise wondther in the men. We must say that his mule was killed, an' that he is a good fellow we have taken a liking to—if any body asks about her. I took her away for the best; becaise she was in danger of every thing bad, and also a burthen to the people she was with, at such a time as this. I swore on the Holy Evangelists, before the ould couple, that I would protect her to Lisbon inviolate, and I hope I'll keep my oath, Tom. If I brake it, may that burning log there watch my corpse!’ ‘Then,’ says I, ‘Tom, I'll do my part, an' if I don't mane to do it, may the same light watch mine!’

“In this way we talked over the night, until the day broke. We could just see all spread undther the threes, the men snoring fast asleep, an' the senthries posted in front. Before the light got much clearer, I spied, over on the hill fornent us about half-a-quarter of a mile, our pickets moving in a bit of a hurry; and faith! about half a dozen shots from them showed us plainly what sort of a storm was beginning. The alarm was amongst us in a minet, an' every one of us sazed the cowld iron, in the twinklin' of a bed-post. ‘Harry,’ says I, ‘waken poor Maria.’—‘Yes,’ says he, ‘God help her, I will.’ With that he did, and without frightening her much, towld her to keep him in sight, but not to be very close to him when he was in any danger. O she was a heroine every inch of her! She didn't spake much, but bowldly buttoned her coat, put her hand on her heart, and looked at him as if she said, ‘Wherever you are, there will I be.’

“Very few minutes more passed, till the Granadiers and we (being the light company) were ordthered out to cover the retrate; a squadthron o' the French 16th dragoons, in green coats and brass helmets, came trhotting up the road through the ravine, that was on our right an' opening with the main road. We were within about two hundthred yards o' them before they got into the main road, for we advanced close to it, undther the cover of a ridge o' bushes; an' in about a minet we let slap amongst them. O! faith, it bothered them, for they didn't want for the word ‘threes about,’ but galloped off, laving about a dozen o' them behind. Howsomever, they didn't go far when they returned at a throt, seeing that a column of infantry was moving down the main road from the top o' the hill, to dislodge us. At this moment our own light dthragoons (the 13th, I think,) with horses that looked like giants to the French garrons, came smashing down behind us on the main road, just as the French horse were coming up. Oh! by Jabus! such a licking no poor devils ever got; the sabres went to work in style, an' our captain gave us the word to face about, an' give it right in to the column coming down the road; which we did with a “cead mille falthea,” an' then retired as steady as a rock, before our cavalry. It was just at this time I saw Maria close to us, an' as pale as death, though all on the alert, an' as brave as a lion. We were now in full march afther the breeze we had kicked up; when, from an opening on our right, through a wood of olives, an immense body of horse approached at full gallop: we had just time to give them a volley an' run, when they were in amongst us. Harry an' I, an' about eighteen more, were cut off from the rest and surrounded, when all further fighting with us was out o' the question; so we were marched off prisoners. The divil a much they got by this manœuvre, for we could see that they came back quick enough, with our dthragoons afther 'em, and if it wasn't that the French infantry by this time cum up, we should have been retaken. I saw one fellow, a sarjeant o' the French horse, going back to the rear, with his thigh laid open and his face cut down the sides: Faith an' many a French horse galloped by us without a ridther at all.”

“I lost all feelings about myself when I looked at Harry, for his countenance was like a wild man's. I knew the cause: it was that Maria was missing. He attempted to run back, an' was near being bagneted by the French guard in charge of us, for doing so.

“There was no time for thinking; or for any thing else. Away we were marched to the rear as fast as we could go, meeting at every step fresh regiments of the French cavalry an' artillery, all in high spirits,—humbugging us with ‘God dam Crabs,’[5] an' the like. Then we were taken across the river at Punhete, an' packed off to Abrantes. In going through, the rascals paraded us about the town to show they had taken some prisoners, an' telling the Portuguese that they killed thousunds of us that morning! On the way to Abrantes poor Harry hardly spoke a word, an' I didn't say much, for our hearts were sick and sore. The whole o' the road along was in a bustle with the advancing army, singing French songs and shouting at us as we passed. ‘Ah!’ says I to myself, ‘if I had half a dozen o' ye to my own share, I'd larn you to shout at th' other side o' yir mouths.’ But we'd one comfort; an' that was, that we knew these fellows' tone would be changed before they went many miles farther.

“We arrived at Abrantes—right back to where we started from the day before,—an' was again made a show of about the town by the braggadocios o' Frenchmen. One o' their generals came up to me—a finikin little hop-o'-my-thumb fellow, who could talk a little broken English; an' says he, ‘You Englisman, eh?’—‘Yes,’ says I, ‘in throth I am.’—‘From what part?’—‘From a place called Ballinamore, in the county of Leitrim.’ ‘Is dat in Hirlaund?’—‘Yes, faith,’ says I, ‘it is.’—‘Ah bon,’ says the general, ‘you be von Catholic—von slave d'Angleterre.’—‘No, Monseer, I'm no slave to Angleterre, though I am a Catholic. There's a little differ in our religion, to be sure, but we are all one afther all.’—‘Vell, Sare, you be Catholic, an Frenchmen be Catholic. You give me all de information of de English army, and vee make you sargeant in de French Guard, and give you de l'argent; you can den fight against de heretick English.’—‘Thank you,’ says I, ‘Monseer General, but I'd much rather be excused, if you plase. I know no differ between Ireland and England when once out o' the counthries; we may squabble a bit at home, just to keep us alive, but you mistake us if you think we would do such a thing as fight against our King and counthry. Come, boys, says I, (turning about to my comrades,) if any o' yiz want promotion an' plenty o' money, now is your time. All you'll be asked to do, is to fight against your ould king, your ould counthry, an' your ould rigiment. Any o' yiz that likes this, let him spake now.’ The General was a little astonished, an' so was the officers with him. There was a bit of a grin on all my comrades' faces, but divil a word one o' them answered.—‘O! I see how it is,’ says I, ‘none o' yiz accepts the General's offer; so now take off your caps an' give three hearty cheers for ould England, Ireland, an' Scotland, against the world.’ Hoo! by the holy St. Dinis! you never hard such a shout—it was like blowing up a mine. The General hadn't a word in his gob; he saw there was no use o' pumping us any more, and so he turned round smiling to one of his officers, an' says he in French (which I understood well, though he didn't think it) ‘En verité ce sont de braves gens! si toute l'armée Britannique est comme cet echantillon-ci, tant pis pour nous autres:’ and galloped off. The maning o' that was this, you see—that we were the broth o' boys, an' if the remaindhar o' the English army was like us, the divil a much chance the French would have.”

“It was nae bad compliment, Corporal,” said Sergeant M'Fadgen; a sentiment in which the rest of the guard unanimously joined.

“By my soul it wasn't, Sergeant, and we all felt what it was to have the honour of our regiment in our hands, and to stick to it like good soldiers, as we ought through thick an' thin.”

“Well, we were there standing in the market-place, surrounded by straggling French an' Frenchified Portuguese; that is, fellows who followed their invaders, like our dogs, to be kicked about as they liked; but there wasn't many o' them, an' maybe the poor divils couldn't help it, unless they preferred a male o' could iron. The shops were all shut up, except where they were broke open by the French, and in every balcony you could see, instead of young women, a set of French soldiers smoking and drinking. Says I to Harry Gainer, ‘If poor Maria was here now, she'd have a bad chance among these rapscallions.’ Harry shook his head and said, with a heavy sigh, ‘Ah, Tom, is she any betther off now? God help her, where can she be?’ At this very minet, a muleteer boy appeared amongst them, crying out ‘Viva os Francesos,’ along with some others, and he had a tri-color cockade in his hat. It was nobody else but Maria herself! She put up her finger to her lip, when she saw that we were looking at her; an' this is the Portuguese sign for silence. We undtherstood her in a jiffy, an', by the Powers! poor Harry's face grew like a May-day morning. I could see that he didn't know whether he was on his head or his heels. ‘Silence, my boy,’ says I, ‘don't you see how it is? don't take the laste notice of her for your life.’ We were immadiately marched off to a church, close by, where we were to lie for the night. Some brown bread was given to us, an' some of Adam's ale to faste ourselves; an' there we were—twenty of us. Now just as we were going in, Maria, in a bustling sort o' way, got close to Harry and me, and says she, in a whisper, ‘Non dorme vos merce esta note, Anrique, pour amor de Dios.’ She then went away in a careless manner, pretending to join in the jokes passed off upon us by those around.”

“The English o' that,” said Serjeant M'Fadgen, anxious to show his knowledge of the Portuguese, “is For the loo o' God, Harry, dinna sleep a wink the naight.”

“Throth you're just right! It is, Sergeant; you ought to know it well, for you were a long time in the Peninsula.”

The Sergeant shut his eyes, and smoked again.

“Well! we got into the church, which was more like a stable; for there was a squadthron of dthragoons' horses in it the night before; the sthraw that remained was all we had to sleep on, an' wet enough it was, God knows! The althar piece,—a fine painting, cut and hacked, an' the wood of the althar itself tore up for firing. ‘There's something a brewing, Harry,’ says I.—‘Whisht!’ says he, ‘Tom; she manes to get us out if she can; an' sorry enough I am, for she may get shot, or be hung by these Frenchmen, if they discover that she is our friend.’ So we talked about it awhile, and agreed to watch all night, as she desired. It was then coming dark, an' we all sat down on the sthraw, an' afther a few mouthfuls of what we had, an' some conversation, all fell asleep, except Harry and I. We talked together to pass the time, till about nine o'clock, when we both from fatague felt very sleepy, so we agreed to lie down, one at a time, while the other walked about. I had the first sleep; an' I suppose it might be two hours, when Harry wakened me, an' lay down himself; but although he did, his sleep was only a doze, for he used to start an' ask me something or other every ten minutes. At last, about one o'clock—I think it couldn't be more—the high window on one side began to rise up, and I could just disarn a figure of a head an' shouldhers, like Maria's, between me an' the faint grey light o' the sky; so I wakens Harry, an' we both went over undther the window. ‘It's she, sure enough!’ says I; an' a whisper from her soon showed it was. The snores of our comrades were just loud enough to dhrown her voice, an' ours too, from any danger; an' from the great fatague they suffered, there wasn't a sowl awake, but ourselves and the senthry outside the door. ‘Take this rope,’ says she, in Portuguese, ‘an' pull up the ladther, while I guide it down to you:—make no noise.’ We then laid howld o' the rope, which by a little groping we found hanging down from the window, an' we pulled steady, while she took the top o' the ladther, an' guided it down as nice as you plase. She then sat down across on the window, while we cautiously mounted the ladther, an' got up to her. I was first; so I looked all round to see if I could make out any o' the senthries; but the heavy sky and a high wind favoured us. So Harry an' I stands on the edge, an' we slowly draws up the ladther an' put it down. ‘Here goes!’ says I; an' I took a parting look at my poor comrades. ‘God send you safe, lads!’ thought I, as I went down. Maria was the next, and then Harry. When we all three got out clear, I was putting my hand to the ladther to take it away, when the senthry cried out ‘Qui va là?’ from the front o' the church. Thinks I, ‘It's all up with us!’ Maria seemed to sink into nothing: she laned against us both, thrembling like an aspin-lafe, while we stirred not a limb, and held fast our breath. ‘Qui va là?’ was again roared out by the senthry, in a louder voice. O God! how I suffered then, an' poor Harry too: the dhrops run off our faces with the anxiety, for it was now whether we should answer to the senthry's challenge, an' be taken, or remain silent an' be shot! He challenged a third time, when, at the highest pitch of our feelings, a Frenchman answered to the challenge as he passed the senthry. I suppose it was some officer prowling about the town to watch the guards. Oh! what a relief it was to us! Ye may guess how glad we were to find that our chance was as good as ever.

“Afther a bit, Maria tould us to follow exactly wherever she went, and to carry the ladther with us. So we proceeded—she first—picking our steps in the dark, till we got out over a little wall into a narrow lane, where we left the ladther down in a ditch. The wind blew as loud as ever I hard it, which favoured us greatly; an' the sort o' grey twilight that was above us, was just sufficient to show us our way. Maria now got into a little garden o' grapes, through a broken wall, and desired us to follow her; which we did, all along undther the vines, which grew over the walk as thick as hops. We creeped on, 'till we came to a sort of an outhouse; where we halted to dthraw our breath, an' thank God for our escape so far. Says Maria to Harry, ‘Men Anrique! men curaçao!’—but there's no use of telling it in Portuguese, so I'll give it in plain English—‘Henry, my heart,’ says she, ‘we are now at the back of Señor Luiz de Alfandega's house,’ (that was her friend's, where she lived) ‘and we must stay there until morning.’ ‘Are the French in it, or not?’ says Harry. ‘No,’ replied Maria, ‘none of the soldiers, except a sick French curnel and his servant; but both are fast asleep above stairs. Poor Luiz an' his wife are fled, and there is nobody remaining in the house but Emanuel’ (that was an ould crature of a man, sixty years in the family—a sort o' care-taker o' the vineyard). ‘I will go to the window an' see if all is safe. It was he who provided me with the ladther, an' now waits to hear of my success. Stay here until I return.’ She went up to the house, and in a few minutes came back an' guided us safely into the kitchen, where ould Emanuel was waiting.

“When we got into the kitchen, there was the poor ould man sitting. We couldn't see him till we sthruck a light—which was a good while first, owing to his groping about for a flint, an' being fearful o' wakening the curnel or his sarvant, that was above stairs. Well, we got the light, an' a sad sight it showed us; there was desthruction itself—every thing broken and batthered—the windows knocked out—the partitions burned—an' the ould man, with his white head, standing, like Despair, over the ruins. This was all done by the rascals o' French; an' I suppose if they wern't turned out, to make room for the sick curnel, they'd have burned the boords o' the floors afore they'd ha' left the house.

“Maria now brought out from a nook in the kitchen, two shutes o' counthryman's clothes for us to put on, in ordher that we might all escape to the English camp; an' scarcely had we taken them up, when we hard a noise, as if a person had slipp'd his foot on the stairs. ‘Whisht,’ says I, ‘Harry; there's somebody stirring.’ We were all as mute as mice, an' the ould man blew out the light. We could now hear a footstep moving down the stairs; an' as there was a boord broken out o' the partition, Harry an' I popped out our heads to look. It was dark; but we could see the cracks in the gate o' the house. Presently the step was at the bottom o' the stairs, an' in the stone passage or gateway,—the Portuguese houses mostly have gateways. Maria thrembled like an aspin leaf, an' Harry pinched her to be quiet. The boult o' the gate was now slowly moved an' opened. We could then see, by a dim light from the sthreet, that a French soldier, in rigimentals, was let in by another in undthress, an' the gate quietly shut, an' not boulted, but latched afther them. ‘By the Powers!’ thinks I, we are done. So we listened: an' presently one o' the villians says to the other, in French, ‘He's fast asleep; but you must be quick, or he may wake; the money is all ready on the table.’ Both then stole up stairs, an' I consulted with Harry about the matther. We didn't know what to think of it. Says I, ‘They're going to rob the curnel of his money, you may depend upon it.’ I then explained to Maria what the man said; an' says she, in a minute, ‘They're going to murther him.’ ‘Yes,’ says ould Emanuel, ‘Certamente.’ Scarcely was the word out of his mouth, when we hard a dreadful groan! ‘It's the curnel,’ says the ould man. Harry an' I jumped out in a minute, followed by Emanuel. ‘Dthraw your bagnet,’ says I.—Harry was up first; and slash into the room where the light was, we ran. One o' the villians fired a pistol at Harry as he enthered, an' just rubbed the skin off his arm with the ball. The poor curnel was struggling undther the other fellow. Harry jumped in upon the bed at him, while I ran at the fellow who fired the pistol. It was a large room; he made for the door, an' leaped right over Emanuel—I afther him, down stairs into the kitchen, an' got him down. He was a horrible sthrong man; I'm not very wake myself, and faith! he gave me enough of it. I dthropped my bagnet to hould him, when he made a desperate effort, an' twisted himself away from me. You may think I held a good hoult, when the breast-plate, which was the last thing I held out of, broke away in my hand. I ran afther him as he got out o' the door, but he got clane off through the back o' the house.

“I immadiately went back to the room, an' there was Harry shaking the murdtherer by the neck, an' the ould man lifting up the curnel gently, who was groaning in a shocking way, an' looking at us as if he thanked us from his very heart an' sowl, but couldn't spake a word. He was bleeding fast from a deep wound in the side, an' the bloody knife was on the ground, beside the bed.

“Afther I shook my fist at the tallow-faced rascal that stabbed his masther, an' when I threatened him with the rope, I went over to the poor curnel an' I spoke kindly to him: I gave him a dthrink o' wather: O! God help him, how ghastly he looked at me—I'll never forget it. He pressed my hand to his heart an' sunk back upon the pillow; then he struggled an' heaved his breast very much, an' seemed just on the point o' death.

“At this minute we hard people running up the stairs, an' in a minute a corporal an' six file o' the French guard burst into the room. The murdthering dog no sooner saw this than he fell on his knees, an' pretended to pray to heaven an' to thank God for his deliverance; then starting up, he cried out to the corporal to saze the murdtherers of his master!

“The three of us were immadiately sazed. We did every thing we could to prove the matther as it really was, but this was of no use. I abused, an' cursed, an' swore at the villian as well as I could, in both French an' English, and bid them ask his masther; but this had no effect, for when the soldiers went to the curnel they found him dead: so Emanuel, Harry, an' myself, were hauled off as if we were three murdtherers, an' locked up in the guard-house.

“When we began to think of ourselves, good God! how dthreadful our situation appeared. Harry suffered on account of his Maria as much as any thing else. What was become of her he could not tell, nor could I either: poor ould Emanuel did nothing but pray all the night.

“As soon as the day-light came, hundthreds of officers crowded to see the two English soldiers who broke from their prison and murdthered a curnel; an' sure enough it was past bearing what we endured from them. But the worst of all was when the general who wanted us to enther his sarvice the day before, came an' saw us.

“‘What!’ says he, ‘are these the men who refused so nobly yestherday to bethray their counthry? Have they committed murdther?’

“O! this cut us to the heart. There was not an hour passed until a court-martial was assembled: we were marched in by twelve men, an' placed before it for thrial. The charges were read; they were for murdthering the curnel, an' attempting the murdther of his servant. All the officers o' the garrison were present.

“To describe our feelings at that moment is out o' the power o' man; but we were conscious of our innocence, an' that supported us. The poor ould man was almost dead; he could scarcely spake a word.

“The thrial was very short; the murdtherer was the evidence. He swore as coolly and as deliberately that we killed his masther as if it really was the case. He said that the curnel had just gone asleep, an' he had lain himself down beside his bed, on a matthrass, when he saw the door open, when we three enthered with a lanthern, an' having sazed him, stabbed his masther with a clasp knife, but that before he was sazed, he said he snatched a pistol an' fired at us.

“One o' the officers present then persaving the mark o' the ball on the arm o' Harry, pointed it out.—His coat was sthripped off, an' the skin appeared tore a little, which a surgeon present declared was done by a ball. The corporal and the guard which took us, proved the situation which they found us in, adding, that we were just proceeding to kill the sarvant as they enthered the room.

“This of course clenched the business: however, we were called upon to make our defence. As I spoke French, I undhertook it. I acknowledged that Harry an' I got out o' the church for the purpose of escaping to our own throops, that we went into the house where the curnel was killed, in ordther to change our rigimentals for other clothes, which ould Emanuel had provided for us. I didn't say any thing about Maria, lest the poor thing might be brought into the scrape. I then described the way that we ran up stairs, an' the sthruggle I had to hould the soldier who was the accomplice. Harry an' the ould man gave the same account o' the affair through an interprether, but all our stories only made them think worse of us. We were asked, could we point out the soldier we saw? and what proof could we give of it? But there was so much hurry when we discovered the murdther, that none of us could give any particular description of the man, so as to find him.

“We were immadiately found guilty, an' sentence o' death was pronounced. We were marched on the minute to the place of execution: it was in front o' the house where the murther'd body lay, an' the gallows had been erected before the thrial.

“Great God! as we stood undther the fatal bame what was my feeling! My friend Harry's fate, and the poor ould man's, sunk me to the bottom of misery. Harry thought o' nothing but his dear Maria, an' Emanuel was totally speechless an' totthering.

“The ropes were preparing, when Maria burst through the soldiers, with a paleness on her face even worse than ours; her clothes disordered, her hair flying about: the soldiers were ordthered to stop her, an' they did; but although they did not undtherstand her language, they couldn't mistake her well, when she pointed to Harry, an' knelt down at the officer's feet. All thought it was a friend of ours, but none supposed her a woman. She was then permitted to go to Harry, an'—oh! such a parting!—she hung upon his neck; she knelt down; she embraced his knees! I stood motionless, gazing at the fond an' unfortunate pair in agony, wishing that the scene was past. An' even Emanuel felt for them, overcome as he was with the thoughts of his own situation.

“The Provost now was proceeding to his juty, the ropes in his hand, when I started as if I had wakened from a horrid dream. A thought sthruck me like lightning: I roared out ‘Stop, for God's sake, stop!’ with a strength and determination of manner that changed the feelings of every body; an' I called out to the officer commanding, with such earnestness, that he rode over to me at once. ‘Oh,’ says I in French to him, ‘I'll prove our innocence; I'll prove it, Sir, if you will grant me your support in doing so.’ This the officer willingly assented to. ‘Go, then, yourself, Sir,’ says I, ‘go yourself into the kitchen o' that house, and look upon the floor. There, plase the Lord, you will find the breastplate o' the soldier that murthered the curnel; I tore it off him in the sthruggle, but unfortunately did not keep it.’

“The officer, God bless him! although he was a Frenchman, seemed as glad as if he had already found proof of our innocence, and immadiately dismounted, called his adjutant and a sarjeant to go with him, an' went straight into the house. I then tould Harry, Maria, and Emanuel, what I thought of; an' such an effect I never saw, as it had upon all o' them. Harry grew red, and looked at me with feelings as if I had already saved his life. Maria's eyes almost started out of her head. She seemed to laugh like, and hung round my neck as if I was her lover, and not Harry; while poor ould Emanuel suddenly came to his speech, an' cried like a child.

“The officer was away about ten minutes, an' during this time there was the greatest anxiety amongst the crowd. I could see plainly their countenances showed that they wished we might be found innocent. The officer at length appeared; advanced hastily,—O God! to have seen us then,—poor Maria, an' the ould man shaking every limb!

“‘Have you found it, Sir?’ says I.—‘Yes, yes, my friend, I have,’ was the answer; an' immadiately he ordthered the Provost to unbind us. The ould man dthropped on his knees, an' every one of us followed his example. There was a murmur of satisfaction among the crowd,—all were delighted with the respite, an' their prayers were mixed with ours.

“We were on our way back to the Governor's house, when I thought o' the necessity o' sending to the rigiment to which the breast-plate belonged, to secure success, an' I asked the commanding officer to do so: but it had been already done; he had sent off his adjutant on the moment to the proper quarter.

“It was now not more than eleven o'clock in the day: the news of the affair had spread, an' a greater number of officers crowded to spake to us now, than to see us before the thrial.

“We were all brought into a private room, where the Governor was, (an' that was the General that spoke to us about joining the French the day before)—The officer who found the breast-plate, up an' tould him all about it.

“‘But this breast-plate,’ says the General, ‘only gives the number o' the regiment. We are still at a loss for the man, should he have obtained another breast-plate.—Besides, this is not direct proof.’

“‘Turn the other side, Sir,’ said the officer, ‘an' you will see the man's name scratched upon it with a pen-knife.’

“Oh! by the powers! this was like Providence, an' we all thanked God Almighty for it.

“In a few minutes the adjutant who was sent to find the man, returned; the sargeant was with him, carrying a kit, an' every thing belonging to the fellow that was suspected. He was then brought in before us; an' when we saw him, an' he us, any body could have sworn he was guilty. ‘Look at the villian,’ says I; ‘look at his neck, where I left the marks o' my knuckles:’ an' sure enough the marks were there, black as you plase.

“The General looked like thundther at him. ‘Where's your breast-plate, Sir?’ says he. The fellow shook.

“‘It's on my belt,’ was the reply. The belt was produced. It had no breast-plate on it! The passporation dthropped off the fellow's forehead.

“‘Sarch his kit,’ says the General. The kit was opened, and amongst his things was found a purse of money, a miniature picture of a lady, an' a gold watch—all belonging to the curnel!

“This was convincing. The General demanded him to answer to these proofs. He was silent. In a few moments, however, he confessed the crime; but pleaded that he was led into it by the sarvant, an' that both intended to desart to the English.

“We were immadiately liberated. The General himself came forward and shook hands with us. Maria acknowledged her disguise, an' the whole story of her getting her lover and myself out o' the church was tould. Every officer of the garrison came to congratulate us. They all seemed as happy as if they were our relations.

“The rascally sarvant that swore against us was sazed, an' both him an' the soldier were thried in an hour afther by the same court that thried us. We were the evidences; an' in less than two hours, the murdtherers were hung on the gallows which they had prepared for us!

“There wasn't a man in the garrison so happy as Harry that evening, nor a woman more joyful than Maria; for the General ordthered that we all should be escorted safely to the front an' delivered over to our own army. Not only that, but plenty o' money was given to us, with a hearty shake o' the hand from all the officers for our conduct; an' we marched out of Abrantes next morning with three jolly cheers from the men.”

*****

Thus ended the Corporal's story of Maria de Carmo.

“Aweel, Corporal,” said Sergeant M'Fadgen, “that story is nae far short o' bein' a romance. If I didn't ken it to be fac mysel', I'd ha' swore it to be made oot o' yir ain Irish invention.”

The meed of praise so justly due to O'Callaghan for his story was now given by all the men; his courage and loyalty were commended, and his sufferings pitied. All, however, who had not been in the regiment at the time the circumstances occurred, demanded of the Corporal, what became of Harry and his sweetheart.

“O faith,” replied O'Callaghan, “they lived like turtle-doves together for three years. When we were delivered over from the enemy, they got married, an' had two fine boys, who are now in the Juke o' York's School.”

“And where are Maria and Harry?” asked one of the men.

The Corporal sighed as he answered; and got up to prepare for the relief.

“Maria,” said he, “God rest her sowl! died in child-bed; an' poor Harry was killed by my side at the battle o' Toulouse, shortly afther.”

The men then proceeded to relieve the sentries, and the Sergeant fell asleep.

OLD CHARLEY.

“Charley is my darling—the [old] Cavalier.”

A good-humoured by-name is often given by soldiers to their commanding officer, under which he is always known and talked of amongst them when his back is turned; and nothing more strongly proves their esteem for him than this practice. The Duke of Wellington himself was called “The Little Corporal” by his men; and this mark of distinction his Grace received from his uncommon zeal and industry in promoting the works of the impenetrable lines at Torres Vedras. The indefatigable commander usually turned out at daybreak, and went through the batteries in which the men were at work, dressed in a plain blue coat and glazed hat, singly and on foot, to watch the progress of the operations. When seen at a distance by the working parties, “Here comes the Little Corporal!” would pass from one to another throughout, and all would redouble their exertions. This was not from fear, but from esteem—each was emulous of approval in his task; and had his Grace himself heard them designating him with the title of his extraordinary rank, he would not have been at all displeased.

The subject of this sketch is Colonel Donellan, of the 48th, who was killed at Talavera; and “Old Charley” was the cognomen of friendly distinction, which the men of his regiment gave their gallant commander. A few traits in his military character will be found not unworthy of imitation by all young Colonels; nay, even some of our old ones would not be wrong in copying a few of his good qualities.

Old Charley was the last of the Powderers; that is to say, the only one in the regiment who, in despite of new customs and new taxes, clung to the good old cauliflower-head of the army, and would no more have gone to parade without pomatum and powder, than without his sword and sash. He had been accustomed to the practice of military hair-dressing from his early youth, and it formed as much a part of the officer, in his estimation, as the epaulette or the gorget. Even as the odoriferous effluvia of Auld Reekie, by the powers of association, will affect the children of that city throughout life, so will hair-powder and pomatum stick to the heads of the old military school for ever:—they bring back the mind to its early predilections: like Merlin's wand, a smell of the one and a dust of the other bid the spirit “of former days arise,” and cheer it with an intellectual view of its dearest hours!

In this amiable susceptibility Old Charley was pre-eminent; and he was often known to have regretted the improvement in hair-dressing, which reduced the quantity of iron pins and coagulable fat used in that art, from two pounds each head per diem to three ounces. The powdering-rooms built in all the old barracks for the purpose of twisting the tails of the battalions into dense knobs, and beautifying their heads with a composition of meal, whiting, and rancid suet, never were permitted by him to be defiled with cast-off stores of quarter-masters, or the rattletrap uproar of an adjutant's nursery. No; those relics of worth were sure to be protected by the whitewasher's brush and the charwoman's scrubber; and, in giving them up to the substitute purposes of orderly-room, Old Charley would heave a sigh and think of the white heads which, like snow-balls, were melted away by the warmth of croppy influence, and trampled upon by the march of refinement!

This worthy officer had formed the greatest friendship with the jack-boot of the army, together with its close associate—the white buckskin breeches; and when the grey overalls and short Wellingtons were ordered to displace them, he indignantly refused to obey—as far as regarded his own proper person: such innovations he could not bear; and, as a proof of his opposition upon this point, he stuck to his jacks and buckskins to the day of his death. They, as well as his favourite powder and pomatum, were along with him at Talavera, when the shot struck him which deprived the service of an excellent, though somewhat whimsical officer.

Amongst his whims was that of governing his soldiers without flogging; and in this task (which is no very easy one) he succeeded so well, that when his regiment, the 2nd Battalion of the 48th, was reviewed by Sir David Baird on the Curragh of Kildare, that general officer complimented him by saying, that “it was as fine and as well disciplined a corps as he would ever wish to command.” This is certainly an argument, and a strong one, against the punishment of flogging in the army; but then, to make the argument perfect, we must provide that there should be an “Old Charley” in every regiment; or, in other words, a commanding officer whose qualities of government can supersede the necessity of the lash.

He pleased both officers and men under his command, although he sometimes was harsh with them, for they knew this harshness was dictated by a wish for their welfare—it was that of a father for his children.

The Colonel had been removed from the second battalion to the first, and for a considerable time had not seen his favourite men. Previous to the battle of Talavera, Lord Wellington reviewed his whole army on the plain, in order to show his ally, the Spanish General Cuesta, a specimen of the British forces in all the pride of their excellence. As the Generals rode along the line, which was of immense extent, each soldier stood fixed in his place; each battalion silent and motionless; scarcely the eyelids of the soldiers twinkled, as the cavalcade of the chiefs and their staff rode by. All on a sudden, a bustle and murmur took place in one regiment; its line lost its even appearance; and caps, and heads, and hands, and tongues moved, to the utter dismay of the officer who was in command of it. In vain did he endeavour to check this unseemly conduct in his men, and Lord Wellington was himself astonished and exasperated at the circumstance. The fact is, the irregular regiment was the second battalion of the 48th:—Colonel Donellan happened to be riding along with the staff, in his stiff buckskins, powdered hair, and square-set cocked hat—his men, from whom he had been separated, perceived their beloved commanding-officer, and every one murmured to his comrade—“There goes old Charley!”—“God bless the old boy!”—“Success to him!”—“Does not he look well?”—and so on; bustling and smiling, evidently from an impulse they could not resist. When this was known to the Commander-in-Chief he was perfectly satisfied; and all were delighted as old Charley uncovered, and shook the powder from his cocked hat in waving a cordial salute to his worthy soldiers.

In a very short time after this circumstance the battle of Talavera took place, and then the Colonel showed that he knew the use of steel and ball as well as of powder. He was engaged at the head of his regiment, in the thickest of the fight: for several hours he had stood the fire of the enemy, and drove them from their ground frequently, during which time he had two horses shot under him. The presence of the fine old soldier, like Charles the XII. in scarlet, animated his men, and they fought with the energy of true courage. His voice, as he gave the word of command along the line of his battalion, was like a match to the gun—“Steady, officers! cool, my men—Ready, p'sent, fire—that's the way, my lads.” Thus old Charley, at a word, sent showers of well-directed balls into the blue ranks before him; and in the heat of a well-returned fire, was as cool as on the parade, and as primly caparisoned. He perceived a few of his men fall from a discharge of musketry, at such a distance as made him doubtful of being within range—“Curse the fellows,” said he, “those damn'd long guns of theirs can shoot at two miles off!” and immediately advanced his battalion to such a proximity of the foe, that he soon made them shift their ground.

Very shortly after this, a dreadful charge upon the French was made by the Guards; but in their pursuit they went rather far, and a reinforcement of the enemy came upon them. Colonel Donellan instantly advanced to the support of the threatened regiment at double quick time: but in this glorious moment, the gallant leader received a ball in his knee: he beckoned the officer next in command, Major Middlemore, and, although suffering the most excruciating torture from the wound, took off his hat, and resigned the command just as if he had been on the parade of a barrack-yard. His enraged men went on like lions, taking ample revenge upon their enemies—and that too with the cold iron.

The Colonel, with his knee broken in a most dangerous manner, was, without loss of time, carried to the rear by four of his musicians, and placed on a straw bed in the town of Talavera: had there been surgeons to have amputated his limb on the instant, it is supposed he would have survived; but this not having been the case, mortification took place, and he died on the fourth day after the battle, surrounded by thousands of dying and dead.

Owing to Cuesta's illiberal opposition to Lord Wellington, he, as well as the rest of the wounded, were left in the hands of the French; as were also several English surgeons, who remained at the mercy of the enemy.[6] The Colonel, however, was treated with the greatest respect and kindness by the French officers. Some of them remembered seeing him at the head of his battalion, and warmly praised the veteran's gallantry. His soldier-like appearance, too, commanded their regard, and they carried him in a cloak to the spot on which he had led his regiment so bravely, and there they buried “Old Charley” with the true honours of a soldier.

MESS-TABLE CHAT.
No. I.

“But this is worshipful society.”
Shakspeare.

Scene—The mess-room of a Hussar Regiment: principal speakers—Colonel Diamond; Major Flowers; Captains Tache, Bright, and Ploomer; Doctor Scott; Lieutenants Rose, Golding, Lavender, and Honeywood; Cornets Lilly, Fairfax, Canary, and Small. Table spread with dessert, decanters, glasses, and snuff-boxes. Time—half-past ten at night.

Capt. Bright. When Colonel Diamond has done drilling the claret, I would thank him to put it into marching order, and give the decanter the route.

Col. Diamond. 'Pon my honour, Bright, you are becoming brilliant. If you take any more of the light wine, you will absolutely dazzle us.

All the Mess. Good!—good!—excellent!—bravo! Colonel—admirable hit.

[A well directed volley is laughed at the Colonel's “HIT;” particularly loud from the Subalterns.]

Dr. Scott. Positively, Colonel Diamond, the Ensign and Adjutant, wha writes in Blackwood's Magazine, couldna say a better bet o' wut. (offers his gold snuff-box to the Colonel.)

Capt. Bright. By the by, Colonel, who is this new Cornet we are about to have?

Col. Diamond. 'Pon my honour, I don't know him; but, I believe, Major Flowers does.

Major Flowers. Pardonnez moi, Colonel, I don't know him. His uncle's in trade: he is known on change.

All the Mess (with a stare). Indeed!!!

Major Flowers. Yes, I have heard that he is a dry-salter?

All the Mess. A dry-salter?

Lieut. Rose. Horrible!

Cornet Canary. Shocking!

Cornet Small. Dreadful!

Lieut. Golding. Abominable!

Dr. Scott. Aweel, I dinna know but there's mare in dry-salters than you think, gentlemen: he's na' the worse for a' that, gin he's got the siller.

Major Flowers. Doctor, 'pon my honour, I am surprised that you should think that money could possibly purchase our permission to admit a dry-salter's relation as a member of the nonpareils!

All the Mess. Oh, Doctor!—oh! oh! oh!

Dr. Scott. A dry-salter, Major, is na' worse than a tailor, and I have seen a tailor's son cut a canny dash in the army afore noo.

All the Mess. Have done, Doctor, pray have done!

Colonel Diamond. The Doctor has Dunn, I assure you. (Although the Colonel's pun was evidently a poser—all laughed a little; but the Colonel himself, although he could not refrain from the deliverance of it, was certainly sorry for having been so witty, and a short silence intervened.)

Major Flowers. Oh, by the by, Colonel, I have received a letter from Lady Fanny, and she tells me that it is rumoured—a—that we are to be sent to Ireland.

All the Mess. To Ireland!

Capt. Tache. I'll exchange, upon my honour.

Lieut. Golding. I'll resign.

Lieut. Lavender. We shall be starved, as I live.

Capt. Bright. We shall be murdered.

Cornet Small (in a piping voice). Really, if I had the slightest anticipation that the regiment should have been ordered on foreign service at all, I would have joined the Blues. A man of fortune has no business in Ireland.

Col. Diamond. If this news of Lady Fanny's should turn out to be true, I must go to town immediately, and insist upon a change in the arrangement; the Duke must not be allowed to have his way in this: so, gentlemen, make yourselves easy on the subject. I am determined we shall not go.

[All the Mess are delighted, and a burst of applause follows the concluding word of the Colonel's assurance.]

Dr. Scott. Dinna fash aboot ganging to Ireland, gentlemen; it's no sae bad a spot as you think.

Capt. Ploomer. Really, Doctor, you Scotchmen have strange notions of comfort,—totally at variance with the esprit de corps which distinguishes the nonpareils. Those boundary countries, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales, may do very well for the infantry and the heavy dragoons, and perhaps as an occasional quarter for the lights; but we, who are the influential portion of the military ton, should never leave England, except, indeed, for such an affair as Waterloo.

Dr. Scott. My conscience! but I think, Captain, such “affairs” as Waterloo are more suitable to the heavy dragoons than to the Hussars: an' I have na doubt but the gallant Marquis o' Anglesea wud tell ye the same thing.

Capt. Ploomer. 'Pon my honour, I don't know; we did very well, too; vastly well—a—but let us confine ourselves to Ireland, Doctor.

Col. Diamond. Yes, Doctor, to Ireland, if you please.

Dr. Scott. Weel, what objection have ye to that quarter?

Capt. Ploomer. Objection! my dear Sir! they shake hands with their friends, and absolutely eat breakfasts.

Cornet Canary. Oh, shocking!

Cornet Fairfax. Abominable!

Capt. Tache. The Doctor is not to blame, considering the view he takes of the matter. Ireland may be a very good quarter; but the Commander-in-Chief ought to draw a line between the mere army and the cream of the cavalry.

All the Mess. Certainly—undoubtedly—decidedly.

Dr. Scott. I dinna ken that—I dinna ken that; the cream of the cavalry, as ye call it, did na mair under Pompey at the battle o' Pharsalia, than they did under Wellington at Waterloo.

[A silence prevails during the application of three full pinches of snuff.]

Lieut. Honeywood. Pray, Doctor, may I ask you when that action was fought? Was it before the affair of Talavera?

Cornet Lilly. Yes, considerably previous.

Dr. Scott. Which action?—Waterloo?

Lieut. Honeywood. No, no; the other you mention.