EXTRACT

’Let me hear from you soon, dear Delaserre.  Remember, I can learn nothing about regimental affairs but through your friendly medium, and I long to know what has become of Ayre’s court-martial, and whether Elliot gets the majority; also how recruiting comes on, and how the young officers like the mess.  Of our kind friend the Lieutenant-Colonel I need ask nothing; I saw him as I passed through Nottingham, happy in the bosom of his family.  What a happiness it is, Philip, for us poor devils, that we have a little resting-place between the camp and the grave, if we can manage to escape disease, and steel, and lead, and the effects of hard living.  A retired old soldier is always a graceful and respected character.  He grumbles a little now and then, but then his is licensed murmuring; were a lawyer, or a physician, or a clergyman to breathe a complaint of hard luck or want of preferment, a hundred tongues would blame his own incapacity as the cause.  But the most stupid veteran that ever faltered out the thrice-told tale of a siege and a battle, and a cock and a bottle, is listened to with sympathy and reverence when he shakes his thin locks and talks with indignation of the boys that are put over his head.  And you and I, Delaserre, foreigners both—­for what am I the better that I was originally a Scotchman, since, could I prove my descent, the English would hardly acknowledge me a countryman?—­we may boast that we have fought out our preferment, and gained that by the sword which we had not money to compass otherwise.  The English are a wise people.  While they praise themselves, and affect to undervalue all other nations, they leave us, luckily, trap-doors and back-doors open, by which we strangers, less favoured by nature, may arrive at a share of their advantages.  And thus they are in some respects like a boastful landlord, who exalts the value and flavour of his six-years-old mutton, while he is delighted to dispense a share of it to all the company.  In short, you, whose proud family, and I, whose hard fate, made us soldiers of fortune, have the pleasant recollection that in the British service, stop where we may upon our career, it is only for want of money to pay the turnpike, and not from our being prohibited to travel the road.  If, therefore, you can persuade little Weischel to come into ours, for God’s sake let him buy the ensigncy, live prudently, mind his duty, and trust to the fates for promotion.

’And now, I hope you are expiring with curiosity to learn the end of my romance.  I told you I had deemed it convenient to make a few days’ tour on foot among the mountains of Westmoreland with Dudley, a young English artist with whom I have formed some acquaintance.  A fine fellow this, you must know, Delaserre:  he paints tolerably, draws beautifully, converses well, and plays charmingly on the flute; and, though thus well entitled to be a coxcomb of talent, is, in fact, a modest unpretending young man.  On our return from our little tour I learned that the enemy had been reconnoitring.  Mr. Mervyn’s barge had crossed the lake, I was informed by my landlord, with the squire himself and a visitor.