I have the advantage of being an Irishman. My parents had also the felicity of first seeing the light of day as it shone upon the soil of the land which for ages has seemed to possess such passing interest in the eyes of Britain. Their family consisted of six children: four boys and two girls. I was the youngest of the whole, and, for reasons I do not profess to comprehend, was a special favourite. I was named Thomas; which, interpreted by parental love, was converted into Benjamin, with a double portion of all that substance so scanty as theirs could supply. I was born in the small townsland of Enneham, King’s County, in the province of Leinster, about the year 1790, be the same a little earlier or later. The exact period I cannot specify; as at that time and place, and in consequence of the culpable negligence generally prevalent in parochial registration, very little thought or care was shown in recording such events.

Those were the days of intestine broil and vengeance. The seeds of rebellion, which had been sown with an unsparing and remorseless hand, were just ready to produce their baneful first-fruit. Such was the jeopardy in which Protestants especially were placed, that no one who beheld the morning sun arise could safely calculate upon seeing it go down. ‘Domestic fury and fierce civil strife,’ kindled and mainly maintained by papal cupidity and violence, raged through the fairest portions of the country. No one had courage to trust his neighbours; for no one could tell who was worthy of trust. Mutual confidence, based upon moral principle, which alone can cement society, was blotted from the list of social virtues. Not many dared depend even upon former friends. The ties of relationship, and those arising from nearness of kin, were frequently forgotten. Natural affection, usually invincible, was unheeded; and under cover of night, or even in open day, the unwary traveller became frequently a prey to instantaneous death from the bullet of some skulking assassin, concealed behind the road-side bush or brake.

My parents, I regret to state, were Roman Catholics. They knew no better; for no other teaching had reached their minds. Their membership with that fallen community was their misfortune rather than their fault. I believe the profession they made was sincere; and that, though mingled with the dross of Popish superstition, they were possessors of at least some few grains of sterling piety. My mother, in particular, was remarkably constant and fervid in her devotions; and the earnest manner in which her beads were counted, though I could never detect the meritorious points of calculation, is to be numbered among the earliest and most powerful impressions I ever received. My father had for several years acted as steward to Archibald Nevens, Esq., a gentleman who, at that time, was the owner of considerable estates in the vicinity of Portarlington.

Ours was a happy family. My father, though a plain man, was excelled by few in attachment to his wife and children. ‘Hope springs eternal in the human breast;’ and we flattered ourselves that futurity offered to our notice lengthened years of comfort. But we soon found that our hold on earthly happiness was fragile as the spider’s thread. My father was taken ill and died. Even now the procession of his funeral is pictured on my memory. The gentleman already named as my father’s employer had fallen upon evil days. His property passed into other hands; and as the purchaser knew nothing of our family, no one cared for the widow and her orphan charge. A house with every needful convenience had been built for us by the original proprietor. This we were abruptly ordered to quit. Another king had arisen, who knew not Joseph or his father’s house. We went away, weeping at every step. I saw my mother’s tears, and to this day her low wailing strikes my ear. But though destitute, we were not forsaken; though in straits, we did not perish; and by the blessing of Almighty Providence upon the well-directed industry of my mother and my elder brothers, we were sustained with food convenient.

The desolate condition of the moneyless and unprotected widow was aggravated in no common degree by the political commotion already adverted to. Persons unacquainted with the approaching terrors of that era may imagine that an obscure and uninfluential family like ours had little to apprehend, that our poverty was protection enough, and that those who had nothing to lose had nothing to fear. Not so. The conflict then impending arose from the dark designs of men ‘cursed with a heart unknowing how to yield,’ and who were bent on havoc and rapine. Personal robbery might not be planned, but many were ready for that and a great deal more. Heresy and sedition were closely in league; the emissaries of each were in ceaseless motion; and the ultimate design was to burst forth from the unsuspected places of mischief, suddenly, and wide wasting as the simoon of the desert, and sweep with indiscriminating ire, from the abodes of their peaceful countrymen, every vestige of existing government and every temple devoted to the reformed religion, as by law and right reason established. Perfect secrecy on the part of the rebels was happily unattainable. Every now and then circumstances and facts transpired, the tendency of which could not be mistaken. Hair-brained but hot-headed men became the self-elected orators of secluded nocturnal assemblies. Liberty and equality and reason versus religion, neat as imported from the French directory at Paris, was the order of the day. Uproarious vociferation took the place of argument; and though the majority of these Hibernian gentry were as ignorant of jurisprudence as the more modern destructionist, nothing less than the dismemberment of the British empire, and the establishment of a republic, formed probably on the model of Citizen Robespierre, would suit their purpose.

All this was designed, and most of it was divulged. Experience has shown, that where numerous and unequally gifted agencies are employed, let the pursuit be good or evil, entire privacy is next to impossible. The parties may promise to be silent, or may bind themselves to be so by oath; but concealed knowledge is a treasure, of which the custody is to some communicative souls impracticable. They find themselves in the possession of a secret; it struggles to break away; but they remember their vow, and in order to hold it fast, they get a friend or two to help them. The sons of Irish misrule assumed several names: there were White-boys and Steel-boys, Oak-boys and Right-boys. Distinctions are, however, needless,—they were all bad boys; and at length the entire series were drawn into the wild and powerful vortex of United Irishmen; it being understood that this body consisted chiefly of persons professing the Roman Catholic religion.

The storm at length came down, and the consequences were awful. Although not quite nine years of age when our neighbourhood rang with war’s alarms, the scenes I was then compelled to witness cannot be forgotten. I distinctly remember the transactions of an eventful day which took place in a small town near my mother’s residence. The rebels had taken possession of the place, and had murdered a magistrate who attempted to oppose them. At that crisis a squadron of dragoons, stationed at Tullamore, received orders to march and endeavour to dislodge them. The cavalry rode into the main street with great gallantry, but were received by a tremendous fire of musketry from the windows of the houses on each side; so that, after sustaining a considerable loss, they were compelled to retreat. Several of the soldiers were killed; and a number of wounded men were afterwards conveyed on cars from the place of action to the military hospital.

My poor mother was in the midst of these dangers; and I well remember that she experienced great rudeness from the ruffian rabble. But the Almighty preserved her from serious injury. He can restrain at pleasure the wrath of man, as well as divert it into a new and unintended channel. That night we were afraid of entering into any house, lest we should attract the notice of the rebels, who were now flushed into insolence and inebriety by their recent victory: we therefore crept behind the foliage of some low trees, and passed the night in the open air. Our next precaution was to protect the little remaining household furniture from pillage. To effect this, we buried the most valuable articles in the earth, as nothing above ground appeared to offer the least protection. The property thus secreted was saved; but on raising it subsequently, almost everything was spoiled by the dampness of the soil in which it had been embedded.

One of my neighbours, John Tinkler, was singled out by these barbarians as a victim. He was a man of singular benevolence, and held in general esteem by the surrounding inhabitants; but he was a Protestant, and that had long been placed at the head of the list of unpardonable crimes. The house of this worthy man, whom I well knew, was beset by a horde of armed ruffians, who commenced an immediate attack. Tinkler, in the midst of his family, consisting of a wife and seven or eight children, though surprised, determined to defend himself to the last extremity. He fought desperately, though oppressed by numbers, until one of the villains posted outside the house, and guided by the sound of his voice, deliberately levelled his piece and fired. The bullet passed through the door, and struck Tinkler, who fell dead just within the threshold, valiantly defending his home and property; and I regret to add, that the widow and her helpless charge, ejected by some means from the farm and land, were obliged to seek shelter elsewhere.

These were but the beginning of sorrows. The spirit of ruinous anarchy spread far and wide. It was particularly observed, that the Roman Catholics were very much devoted to their chapels. Mass was celebrated every day throughout most parts of the country; whereas, formerly, it was chiefly observed only on the Sabbath-day. The chapel of Ballycanoe was attended by a very numerous congregation at both morning and evening prayers. Michael Murphy was officiating priest of that parish; a young man, strongly made, and of a dark complexion, who had been a few years resident in the place, and not long in holy orders. This person was master of profound dissimulation, and contrived to throw around himself the garb of saintly innocence at the very moment in which he was preparing to smite with the sword. This military saint actually took the oath of allegiance, in which he expressly declared himself ready to ‘be true and faithful to his majesty King George the Third, and to the succession of his family to the throne; and that he would prevent tumult and disorder by every means within his reach, and give up all sorts of arms in his possession,’ ‘All the above,’ quoth Michael, ‘I swear, so help me God and my Redeemer!’ Meantime, in the immediate vicinity and all around the residence of his reverence, timber was missing out of the gentlemen’s nurseries. It was observed that the woods and shrubberies were gleaned of such materials as would suit for the construction of offensive weapons. In fact, this genuine sample of Popish fidelity, who, had he lived, ought to have been rewarded with at least a cardinal’s hat,—this pretended pattern of all that is good and praiseworthy, went his way from the altar, put down the testament on which, after the perpetration of his delusive affidavit, his lips had been pressed, and straightway began to exemplify the inviolability of his oath to existing government by the manufacture of pike-handles and granting absolution to those who helped him.

Without going into the history of the Irish Rebellion, which is foreign from my present purpose, the fact is sufficiently evident, that the whole of that sanguinary struggle from first to last may be ascribed to the crafty domination of the Roman Catholic clergy. It is not a little singular, that three of the most daring military leaders, those I mean who were principally signalised in the wholesale butchery of their Protestant fellow subjects, were priests in that persecuting Church. One of these, named Roche, assumed the power of working miracles. Indeed, each of them, as occasion required, did a little business in that line. Roche declared that in battle his person was invulnerable, that no shot could hit or hurt him; and having picked up several bullets after an engagement at Ross, he assured his dupes that he caught them in his hand during the fight. The wily ecclesiastic, true worshipper as he was at the shrine of Mammon, conceived the idea of turning the thing to good account by the alternate practice of hypocrisy and theft, for either of which his hand was ready. He succeeded; and I hardly know which to admire most, the consummate impudence of the holy father, or the folly of his disciples. Roche procured slips of paper, each of which he termed a ‘protection, or gospel.’ In the centre was a figure of the Cross, with an inscription underneath, stating: ‘In the name of God and of the blessed Virgin, no gun, pistol, sword, or any other offensive weapon can hurt or otherwise injure the person who has this paper in his possession; and it is earnestly recommended to all women to carry it, as it will be found an infallible preservation against the fatality of child-bed.’ Anxious to secure customers in every rank, the price of these tickets to the better sort of people was half-a-crown. As the poor might haggle at parting with a coin so large, the vendor discreetly condescended to open a retail trade at sixpence each. The circulation of this trumpery, the value of which was equal to every other product of the Catholic Church, was immense; customers were to be computed by thousands.

Friar Murphy has already been noticed. His career, as has been related, commenced with daring perjury; and as the progress and end of such a man may be instructive, he shall have a parting glance. Like his iniquitous associate, he was disposed to do the wonderful. His campaign, however, with those of many other villains, was soon over. Bloody and deceitful men do not live out half their days. It was at the Battle of Arklow, in 1798, that Commander Murphy determined by a decisive movement to blast the hopes of the Protestant cause. On the morning of the 9th of June, the rebel army was observed, amounting to 34,000 men, with three pieces of artillery, advancing on the town. Had this formidable force arrived only two days earlier, it would in all probability have captured the place; but, providentially, reinforcements had been procured from Dublin, so that the garrison amounted in the whole to 1,500 men, under the command of Major-general Needham. Arklow, considered as a military position, presented no points susceptible of advantageous defence, and was altogether open and unprotected. About two o’clock p.m. advice was received that the enemy was approaching: this was so little credited that the garrison, which had been ordered under arms, was just going to be dismissed, when a dragoon came galloping into the town with intelligence that the rebels were at hand. The drums instantly beat to arms, the troops flew to their respective stations, and preparations were made to give the enemy a proper reception.

Having advanced to the suburbs of the town, the rebels set fire to several buildings, in hope that the smoke would annoy the garrison, and confuse their operations. Just then the wind shifted to the opposite quarter, so that the scheme not only failed, but served to confound their own devices. The action commenced between a column of the rebels and a detachment of the Dunbarton Fencibles, who were ordered out to line the ditches on each side of the road. When they had exchanged about a dozen rounds, the fencibles received orders to retreat, which was performed, but with a little confusion. On perceiving this movement, the rebels pursued with loud huzzas, and one of their officers, waving his hat, called out, ‘Come on, my boys! the town is our own.’ That was an error. He was suddenly surrounded by the troops, his horse was shot, and himself wounded; on which he fell as though slain. In a little time curiosity constrained him to lift up his head and look about; when he was perceived, and shot dead. The rebels pressed on with obstinacy worthy of a better cause; but on receiving a close fire of musketry and grape-shot, they fell back to some distance. They then endeavoured to extend their line in order to turn the left flank; but the fire of the Cavan battalion was so severe, that the attempt was abortive. Another column of the rebels tried to gain the lower end of the town by the beach; but here they were repulsed by a desperate charge of cavalry, headed by Colonel Sir Watkin Wynne. They then proceeded in great force to a passage that led to the centre of the town, which was defended only by a sergeant and twelve privates: this handful of men, however, made good their position, and, as the pass they held was narrow, rendered every effort to dislodge them from it ineffectual. At this critical juncture Priest Murphy appeared, animating his men to renewed acts of outrage: many of these, terror-stricken by the clamour of this clerical warrior, were driven before him to the thickest of the fray. As no new deception presented itself, he had recourse to the worn-out pretension of working miracles. He declared, like Brother Roche, that he could catch the bullets, or ward them off at pleasure; in proof of which, he advanced at the head of a strong party in order to take a cannon stationed near a barrack. In that moment his bowels were torn out with canister-shot. The rebels, on observing him fall, fled with precipitation, swearing the priest himself was down. On that day a thousand rebels fell. Their retreat, as might be expected, was marked by dreadful excesses: they broke the windows of churches and other places consecrated to Divine service. They had an intolerable hatred to Protestant Prayer-books, and tore to pieces all that came within their reach. They carried the leaves of the church Bible on their pikes, shouting, ‘Behold the French colours!’ and, to complete their impiety, they put two Protestants to death in the aisle of a church. In other parts they made saddles of the Bibles, and rode about upon them.

The retrospect of these vengeful days, while it serves to fix my faith in true religion, as contrasted with that which is false, calls forth unfeigned gratitude to God for His protecting mercy. Exposed as my mother and family were to the pelting of the pitiless hurricane, none of us sustained material personal injury. I have before stated that my mother was conscientiously attached to the tenets, such as they are, of the Church of Rome. I never observed anything reprehensible in her conduct, though no one was more constant than she at the confessional; neither know I to which of the saints she was disposed, on emergency, to turn. That she loved the Saviour, and was willing to wash the feet of the servants of her Lord, I can safely affirm. I can vouch for the constancy and zeal of her private prayers and intercessions: I know that the practices of her life agreed with the engagements of her lips: and I cannot help thinking that she was a noble proof that God is no respecter of persons; that holiness of heart may subsist in the most defective dispensation; and that whoever seeks the face of God, through the merits of His Son, in the path of penitence and faith, even though cumbered with mistaken doctrinal views, shall not be cast away. The time, the extent, and the unwitting nature of her ignorance God winked at: he saw that she erred through ignorance. The eye of His omniscience pierced through the veil of her mental delusion to the uprightness of intention that dwelt within; and I believe, through Divine mercy, she went down to her grave justified by grace, ‘hallowed and made meet for heaven.’

Agreeably with the religious views which my mother had entertained, she endeavoured to teach me the principles of Papacy. I was, moreover, frequently taken to mass: but, being young and heedless, one system of religion was to me as good as another; in other words, I was careless respecting them all. Indeed, I have reason to believe that my indifference in this respect was to my mother a source of great grief. Meantime I had arrived at the fourteenth year of my age; a period, generally speaking, of no small vanity and self-complacency, and in which many men think themselves qualified, by the dignity of their teens, to shake off the trammels of parental guidance. Among others, I determined to walk alone; but unfortunately I cannot, on reflection, boast of my first step. Among the youths with whom I contracted some acquaintance, was a dissolute lad about my own age; by whose enticement, when only just turned fifteen, I enlisted in the Queen’s County militia. Not that my conduct, like his, had been openly immoral; yet he had gained over me an ascendancy I could not resist. Evil communications corrupt good manners; and perhaps the apparent freedom, the frankness and gaiety of an open-hearted soldier’s holiday life, had an influence which, though not acknowledged, was really felt. But, O, my mother! for when I became a soldier she was still living. I had in this deed of hardihood well-nigh forgotten her.

But she remembered me; and when I thought thereon, I wept. Never shall I forget her last, her parting look! My elder brother had settled at some distance; and on the eve of my departure to share in unknown danger, had unexpectedly arrived. If bereaved of her children, she was bereaved; and I know she said in her heart, ‘All these things are against me.’ Her farewell was accompanied with a prayer for my future prosperity; and I impute my preservation, under Providence, through life, to the pious lessons and examples of my excellent mother. On leaving her presence on this eventful occasion, I was taken before Captain Fitzmaurice, the officer in command at the recruiting station, and was kindly received. He expressed himself pleased with my look and healthy appearance; made several minute inquiries relative to my family, and at once engaged me as his servant. After serving in the corps about twelve months, I received, principally, I believe, on account of my youth, an honourable discharge, while the regiment was stationed at the Castle barrack in Limerick, and returned to the quietude of home.

Habits of dissipation may be contracted at pleasure; but when once confirmed by repetition, they are not so easily dismissed. This is especially true in youth; and I soon found that though I had retired beneath the roof of an excellent parent, my disposition to wander wide was still the same. Contentedness of mind I found was a state, not a place. The roll of the spirit-stirring drum, the glittering file of bayonets, with the pomp and circumstance of military parade, not unmingled perhaps with undefined thoughts of ultimate promotion, passed in review before my imagination, in colours vividly charming: resistance was vain. To this alluring panorama was added the consideration that, though only seventeen, I had reached the height of persons required by regimental rule. In fact, on the 6th of April, 1806, I enlisted in the 43rd Regiment of the line, and in company with several other recruits proceeded to Cork, where we embarked for Bristol, at which place, after a rough passage, we safely landed; and in a few days reached the town of Ashford, in Kent, where the regiment was quartered.

Events and shifting scenes had crowded one after another with such rapidity since I left home, that reflection was drowned; but the first night in which I lay down in the barracks, memory began to be busy. I could not help thinking of the peaceful fireside I had left; and in despite of my most vigorous effort to shake off the intrusion, conscience would not be denied, and the image of my mother, deserted at her utmost need, and pinched perhaps by want, was a source of great uneasiness. But having passed the Rubicon, retreat I knew was out of the question. Independently of the conflict within, my situation in the barrack was not adapted to afford much present consolation. The sleeping-room of which I was an inmate was an oblong building of unusually large dimensions, and was occupied by three companies of a hundred men each. They were chiefly volunteers, and of course young soldiers. Many were Irish, many more were English, several Welshmen were intermingled, and a few Scotchmen came in to complete the whole. Most of these, and that was the only point of general resemblance, had indulged in excessive drinking. Some were uproariously merry; on others the effect was directly the reverse, and nothing less than a fight, it mattered not with whom, would satisfy. Meantime, as they were unable to abuse each other in language mutually intelligible, exclamations profanely jocular or absurdly rancorous rang through the building: altogether, the coalition of discordant verbiage was such as to beggar all description, and can be likened to nothing of which I ever heard or read, except the confusion on the plains of Babel. Never will the occurrence of that night be effaced from my mind. Surely, thought I, hell from beneath is moved to engulf us all. These disorderly proceedings, thank God! were of short continuance. In a few weeks we marched to more convenient quarters, a few miles distant. The salutary restraints of discreetly-managed discipline spake chaos into order, and my situation became comparatively comfortable.

How it has happened I know not, but through all the changes of my life, and they have been neither few nor trifling, I never lacked a friend. One of the first of these has been alluded to; and another belonged to the battalion to which I found myself attached, and, though no relative of mine, was of the same name. He was exceedingly kind on numerous occasions; and it will be readily believed, that the smallest act of civility in favour of a mere novice, at the commencement of his military life, was valuable. The drill of the regiment was severe; but I passed muster without difficulty, and had, in addition, the good fortune to attract the notice of our colonel, a fine old Scotchman; and the first time I mounted guard I was selected by the adjutant as his orderly. This preference, as I had never seen actual service, was perhaps to be imputed to neatness of dress, and the condition of my arms and accoutrements, in which, though only a private, I saw it my duty to be particular; added to this, I was remarkable for flexibility of limb and muscular power, thoroughly understood the use of my weapons, and, unless flattered, had the advantage of a good figure.

That was a period of uncommon vigilance throughout the British army, especially with regard to the corps stationed along the shores of Kent. On the opposite side, and almost within sight, numerous and well-disciplined masses of troops had for some time been encamped under the personal inspection, it was said, of Napoleon, who entertained the vainglorious project of conquering Britain. The harbour of Boulogne contained a numerous and well-appointed flotilla, in which were to embark the long-expected invading force. In the opinion of the best judges, the attempt, even with favouring wind and tide, would have failed. Had the navigation of the high seas by the medium of steam been understood and applied at that time, a naval engagement, in the view of perhaps both countries, might have recalled the fury of the ancient armada, and would probably have been fought upon principles of destructive tendency till then untried. Not that the result need be doubted. Had it been possible for a few gunboats or flat-bottomed craft to elude the vigilance of an English fleet, and shoot a little rubbish upon our borders, no material injury could have arisen. Not a foreigner would have survived to tell the tale of his rashness. I know the spirit of the British army both at home and abroad, and can safely aver, that they would have given an excellent account of the intruders, or perished in repelling them. The experiment was not to be made: Providence ordered that these aggressive movements should begin and end in gasconade. Some good man has said, that the Almighty places the hedge of His providence around the abode of His people, and the hedge of His grace around their souls. My opinion is that these are the defences within which we are entrenched; and that while we keep within the guarded circle, every foe, whether secret or open, will be kept at bay.

In June, 1807, our regiment, which numbered a thousand effective men, was called into actual service; and I soon had an opportunity of observing the difference between the good-humoured rencontres of a holiday review and the tug and strife of desperate conflict. This country stood, at the beginning of the present century, nearly, if not quite, alone against the colossal influence of continental despotism. The Emperor of the French, then at the zenith of power and ambition, seemed determined to compass the globe in exertions to ruin the commerce and prosperity of England. Its welfare was an intolerable worm at the root of all his enjoyment; and among other plans in which it gratified his soul to revel was that of forming a confederacy among the northern powers of Europe, for the purpose of excluding the vessels of this country from the navigation of the Germanic waters, and bringing against it the concentrated strength of hostile navies. In this alliance it was supposed that Denmark had largely shared; and as Lord Nelson had already shown that the passage of the Sound was not so impregnable as had been thought, the British ministry resolved to send an expedition, consisting both of land and sea forces, for the purpose of capturing Copenhagen, together with the fleet in that harbour. This singular determination was defended in Parliament, not by charging the Danes with hostile intentions, but by urging their inability to resist the increasing power of France. In the opinion, however, of several creditable writers on jurisprudence and the laws of nations, the measure is to be deplored, not only because it is dishonourable in itself, but calculated to render our name odious in a country where we should otherwise have found cordial allies. There are some, observes an apostle, that say, ‘Let us do evil, that good may come.’ Such was the case apparently here, and the abettors of the act place themselves within the malediction that followed. The argument of the British cabinet was: It is possible that our antagonists, who want valuable ships, may seize the Danish navy: this is the more likely because effectual resistance cannot be offered: to remedy this awful breach of justice, in respect of a harmless neutral power, we will save all further trouble, by taking possession of the property ourselves. An illustration of three lines exhibits the unfairness of the transaction: A well-armed freebooter pounces upon his peaceable neighbour, ransacks his habitation, breaks open his coffers, abstracts the property, seriously wounds the sufferer in the scuffle, and marches off with the spoil: the burglar then justifies the act, because he has heard, that unless he make haste, an acquaintance of his, as great a thief as himself, but a far inferior pirate, with whom he has quarrelled, has thought of doing the very same thing. The government of this country supported itself on the occasion by several reasons. They urged that the Danish fleet and stores, but for the proposed interposition, must fall into the hands of Buonaparte, who wanted exactly that kind of force to act against his formidable foe; that Denmark was totally unable to prevent the seizure of her ships; that there was ground to believe that in order to conciliate the esteem of the French ruler, she would willingly yield to his desire; that in either case the result would be equally unfavourable to this country, inasmuch as the well-appointed fleet of our northern neighbours would supply our inveterate enemy with the means of annoyance in which his greatest deficiency was apparent; and that the rigid, inexorable law of necessity and self-preservation not only permitted, but demanded, the previous seizure of the instruments of intended war. But the causes of hostility between nations involve considerations concerning which a soldier is seldom called upon to trouble himself. Generally speaking, he has little right to meddle or make concerning them. While others reason, he is to obey orders, to fight and fear not; the questions he asks for conscience’ sake being few and far between.

It was on the morning of a delightful day that we broke up our quarters at Hythe, on our route to the place of embarkation. The scene was novel and to myself, who witnessed it for the first time, highly impressive. We breakfasted on the heights of Dover, and in the course of the day marched to Deal. On the following morning, we proceeded to Ramsgate. Boats for our conveyance to the transports then at anchor in the Downs were moored off the pier-head, and in a short time I found myself on board the Sally, formerly of Shields, which had been engaged by government, and fitted up for the reception of troops. The embarkation was effected in August, 1807; and I know not that any event, either before or since, connected with the casualties and privations of military life, ever struck my mind with greater force than that to which I now refer. I allude principally to the strength of affection evinced by the soldiers’ wives and children, many of whom followed in the line of our march, and whom it was impossible to shake off, though permitted to follow to the edge of the water. Indeed many were not content with that: several women insisted on going with their husbands into the boats, and actually did so. ‘Father,’ I heard a little child say, ‘shall I never see you again?’ The grief of separation at last was inevitable; and on nearing the ship’s side, I saw many an embrace, destined by the fitful chances of war to be the last indulged on earth.

Having had some experience in the army, and a tolerably extensive acquaintance with the men who compose it, I cannot permit this occasion to pass, without pointing out the necessity for and the advantage arising, in a national sense, from the asylum for the children of deceased soldiers in the British army, instituted at Chelsea, by the late Duke of York. No person ever understood and maintained the rights and reasonable solaces of a soldier better than the then commander-in-chief. Nothing on earth can exceed the coolness and intrepidity with which a British column enters into action. Their firm and steady step has often been the theme of foreign admiration; and in the clash and hurrah of crossing bayonets they are known to be unequalled. Yet every one acquainted with the finer workings of human nature must suppose (for the reflection is inevitable), that on entering within the range of a shower of bullets, the bravest heart may be troubled by thoughts of an absent family, especially if left in an unprotected and unprovided condition. But if the man have the consolation of knowing, that in the event of any personal fatality, the shield of his country’s honour and beneficence will be exhibited for the protection of his orphan family, the tendency of the recollection at such a crisis is to arm his mind with triple fortitude, and, if possible, give greater ardour to his moral courage. The mind of a man thus circumstanced is at once relieved from a load of domestic anxiety; and having nothing on earth for which to care, but the maintenance of the national weal, he casts himself upon the protection of the God of armies, and cheerfully advances to the assigned position, on the grim and serried ridge of war.

Support granted to the children of a slain soldier is at once an act of justice and of mercy. It presents itself to the mind, commended quite as much by the laws of sound policy as by those of genuine philanthropy. In fact, an institution like that for which I contend may be fairly considered as part of the soldier’s compensation, and the last reward for toil and service rendered to his country. This arrear of pay, though not immediately made, is nevertheless certain; and is to be viewed by the faint and dying warrior as a kind of life-assurance, granted by the generosity of his friends at home, secured by public faith, and payable whenever his children are deprived of their best earthly benefactor. The little pittance needful for the support of a modest but valuable charity, in behalf of a soldier’s orphan progeny, is not to be proscribed under the most rigid economy. To a great nation like this, which has for ages taken the lead in acts of general beneficence, such a step would present a solecism utterly irreconcileable either to right reason or good feeling. Were an hypothesis so eccentric and deceptive to prevail, every act of charity and almsgiving might be superseded. Hospitals might be closed; gratuitous education might cease; the stream of benevolence through its countless ramifications might no longer flow; pity itself, that gentle though honoured inmate of the human breast, might be known no more: but to call this economy would be a sad abuse of terms. Instances often arise, in which judicious expenditure is the way to effect the greatest saving; while, on the other hand, money hoarded up on parsimonious and shortsighted motives is sure to melt away. Does he save who rots the roof of his house for want of a tile? Can the ruralist talk of management, who reaps just half an average crop, for want of sufficient manure? Is it not better to preserve health, than first lose and then try to regain it?

These questions scarcely wait for reply. The affirmation is written either on the mind or heart of all; and upon principles exactly similar, the work of juvenile education, combined as it is in the Military Asylum with the sustenance of the children, and through that with the moral improvement of one of the finest armies in the world, amounts to an expression of English liberality and discrimination, the suppression of which would be a common calamity.

It has been affirmed, and is frequently the subject of sore complaint, that in some charitable foundations now in existence for the gratuitous guardianship and instruction of youth, admissions are procured by favouritism and a species of implied purchase; so that while the gate of reception is closed upon the hapless orphan, who cannot find an advocate, the entrance is invitingly open to those whose influence is sufficiently powerful to command the omnipotent ‘vote and interest.’ By this means the pious intent, nourished during the life of many a noble benefactor, is defeated; and, while he sleeps in the dust, the benefits of his endowment are diverted into channels altogether at variance with those in which the wealth bequeathed was intended to flow. Not so in the Military Asylum. It was built in order to promote the prosperity of the children of English soldiers; none but such are received, nor can admission be procured in any other form, than that projected by the impartial and even-handed rules of the institution. It is the widow and the fatherless whose cause is heard, and whose pleadings win the day. Another proof of the superiority of the institution arises from the order observed within doors: this has for years excited the admiration of visitors, numbers of whom have inspected the school at various periods. Great and persevering efforts are also made to improve and elevate the morals of the children: they are taught to fear God and honour the king, to be grateful to their benefactors, and kind to all. The services of religion are, in fact, so interwoven with the daily practices of the school, that serious impressions, unless in instances of peculiar depravity, can scarcely fail of being made.

One of the most interesting sights imaginable is to see the whole body of children assemble at the dinner hour. The perfect order and silence produced by the application of something like military system, the clean and healthy condition of the lads, on whose countenances no shadow of care is cast, the neatness of their simple but comfortable uniform, together with the judicious general arrangement, contribute to form one of the most pleasing spectacles that the world can afford. Not a word is spoken, nor is there the slightest irregularity, while in the act of assembling. The dining tables having been previously arranged, and plates of food for each man being placed upon them, the youths march, in single file and cap in hand, along the floor of the spacious apartment. They step out together with as much trueness as a veteran regiment: indeed, the steadiness of their advance and simultaneous tread have a beautiful effect. In this animated procession of health and vigour, imagination almost calls up their fathers’ forms, though slain and buried in the battlefield. When the head of each column arrives at the farther end of the tables, which are placed three abreast, and of great length, the word ‘halt’ is given. In that instant every foot is still. Each boy then places his cap upon the floor, when, on a given signal, the entire corps face about to their respective seats. Having clasped their hands in a devotional form, which is also done together, one of the larger lads, placed at the end, pronounces, in a distinct and audible voice, the ‘grace before meat;’ at the conclusion the whole of the boys respond a loud amen. The effect is beautiful, and has often been witnessed by the moistened eye of many a delighted observer. A roll of, or rather, a single touch upon, the drum is then heard, when the children take their seats and commence their meal; and, it is needless to add, enjoy the bounty of their benefactors. A similar ceremony is practised at the close. The accuracy of all the arrangements, the close and vigilant adherence to the principles and purposes for which it was founded, and the admirable provision made for the present and future welfare of the children, render the Military Asylum an institution of which the nation may be proud.