Scene.—A mess-room after dinner, from whence the members have departed, except four, who draw round the fire.

PERSONÆ.

Oldham.—Well, Lovell, my boy, so you prefer the claret and the old Fogies this time to the sparks in the barrack-rooms; we feel the compliment, I assure you. There comes a clean glass: now, stir the fire; that's a good fellow.—I'll do as much for you, when I'm your age.

Lovell.—Why you see, Oldham, they say you old hands won't let out while all the mess are here, and you keep your opinions and experiences for these cosy little horse-shoe sittings. I should like to pick up a little soldiering, if I could, and so have ventured to outsit the rest of them.

O'Sheevo.—Ye're right, ye're right. A man that comes to value his claret early, has all the advantages of experience, without buying them dear. An old head upon young shoulders, in fact.

Pipeclay.—And, you see, the youngster has an eye to a little military information: that's right.

Lovell.—Why, these rumours of invasion make one look about him. If the French come, of course we shall give 'em an infernal good licking; but I am anxious to get an idea what sort of thing it will be, and I daresay you talk a good deal of these matters.

O'Sheevo.—Ah! them French! Oldham, ye don't expect they'll come to spend next Christmas with us?

Oldham.—There's no saying what the rascals might be at; and as Lovell has broached the subject, we may as well talk it over.

O'Sheevo.—Bravo! so we will: how say you, Pipeclay?

Pipeclay.—By all means. You know I mentioned last night how ill I thought our formations adapted for manoeuvring against a hostile force on the coast.

Oldham.—My dear Pipeclay, it is the misfortune of a long peace, and a theoretical education, that they narrow the mind to strain at matters of detail, and to neglect the greater consideration, what is to be done—not how should we do it. Now, in the old second battalion of the 107th, the lads were more apt to talk of the work than the drill-book, and a finer or more dashing set never wore scarlet.

O'Sheevo.—Devil a doubt of it: not a man that wouldn't finish his three bottles before he'd think of stirring; and as for the seasoned files, the night was always too short for 'em. There's no saying what those men might have achieved, if they could have found the time.

Lovell.—But if the French—

Oldham.—Excuse me, Lovell,—I know something about the French, if three years in the Peninsula could give knowledge; and I'll tell you, for a fact, whatever you may hear said, that the organisation of the French army—

Pipeclay.—What! with that slovenly style of marching?

Oldham.—Never mind the style of marching: I say, that whether in the field, in camp, or in quarters—

O'Sheevo.—Devilish bad quarters they'd be sometimes, in them same campaigns, eh, Oldham? Short commons, eh?

Oldham.—Short commons! sometimes no commons at all!

O'Sheevo.—Thin claret?

Oldham.—Thin! the devil a drop. Sherry sometimes, of a quality according to our luck; but for claret we had to keep our stomachs till we got over the Pyrenees;—then, I may say, it ran in the rivers.O'Sheevo.—The devil it did! Then I hope the next Peninsular expedition will sail direct for the coast of France.

Lovell.—But if this invasion—

Oldham.—Well, now,—look here. Well, here's Cherbourg, this glass, do you see? well then, this is Portsmouth, this other—and this dirty one, if I can reach it—damn it, I've broke my own, stretching, across the table.

O'Sheevo—Pipeclay.—Two for one! Two for one!

Oldham.—Well, never mind; 'twas awkward. We don't stand the jokes the old 107th used to cut: there, if you only made the smallest chip in the stem of a glass, you were stuck for your new pair, while the damaged one did duty as well as ever. There wasn't a glass in the mess that hadn't reproduced itself in double at least nine times.

O'Sheevo.—By the powers! that beats the phaynix, who never became twins, that I heard of. I'd not have stood it from any one. A glass that I broke and paid for, I'd consider my own intirely.

Pipeclay.—They had no right to put a glass on the table after it had been paid for; the regulations wouldn't allow it.

Oldham.—Oh! nobody knew any thing about the regulations in the old 107th. The colonel was a trump, and the lads were trumps, so they followed suit, and no lawyering.

Pipeclay.—A colonel has no right to enforce an unjust charge.

Oldham.—Well, perhaps not; but in our days we never troubled our heads about what was just or unjust. It's a bad sign of a corps when men begin to talk of their rights.

Lovell.—True, Oldham; you were saying, suppose that Cherbourg, the other Portsmouth—here's a third glass for you to complete.

Pipeclay.—I beg your pardon one minute, Lovell. I wish to convince Oldham that there is some advantage in knowing how to assert your own rights.

O'Sheevo.—I deny that in toto. The Ballyswig estate would have been in the O'Sheevo family to this day, if my great-aunt hadn't wished to assert her right to a haycock, which brought the title in question, and caused us to lose the whole property.

Pipeclay.—But if another had a just claim?

O'Sheevo.—Just humbug! The opposite side retained Counsellor Curran, who'd have persuaded a jury out of their Sunday waistcoats, with a five-shilling piece in the pocket of each.

Oldham.—Well, well. Now, look here, Lovell. This, as I said, is Cherbourg—this Portsmouth. Ellis, of the staff corps, used always to illustrate this way; did you ever meet him?

Lovell.—What! the owner of May-Bee, who won the military steeple-chase, two years ago? To be sure, I did: devilish sharp fellow he was too.

Pipeclay.—I don't know that: he broke down in some charges he preferred against Sergeant O'Flinn of the Royal County Down, who was acquitted by a general court-martial. A fellow who does that, may be a very good fellow, but can't have much head-piece.

Lovell.—May-Bee was a pretty piece of goods though. I saw the poor thing break her back last spring, under Jack Fisher of the carabineers: Jack nearly went out at the same time. Devilish sharply contested thing, till poor May-Bee's accident. Jack was picked up,—dreadful fall, as the papers said—gallant captain—small hopes of recovery—be universally regretted through the regiment—popular qualities—and that sort of thing; but somehow he marched to Nottingham at the head of his troop, a fortnight after, worth fifty dead men.

Pipeclay.—What do you value a dead man at, Lovell?

O'Sheevo.—If a thing's worth what it'll fetch, a dead man's value wouldn't burst the Exchequer.

Lovell.—Thank you, Major, for getting me out of that; the Adjutant was going to bring me up rather straitly.

O'Sheevo.—He's the very boy to do that. A bigoted ram's horn under his hands, would be forced to relinquish its prejudices. Nobody stoops to conquer in his academy. Send for another jug, and we'll go on with our discussion. Smart letter that of the old Duke's.

Oldham.—Who'll be commander-in-chief when the old Briton dies?

Pipeclay.—It'll depend upon the ministry of the day, which I hope will be a distant one. If he could only anticipate his posthumous fame now, how complete would be his glory.

O'Sheevo.—Sure, he's got his posthumous fame already: he's not obliged, like the ancients, to immortalise himself by committing suicide.

Lovell.—Certainly not, Major. Well, you know the Duke sees the necessity of defending our coasts—

Pipeclay.—And of increasing the army. I have a plan of my own for raising men, which I shall propose, some day or other, to the Horse Guards.

Oldham.—There's no difficulty in getting men; any quantity may be raised in Ireland.

O'Sheevo.—That's true, because any quantity are knocked over every day there; but they, poor men! are beyond the skill of even an adjutant.

Pipeclay.—At any rate I should like to give my system a fair trial.

O'Sheevo.—I have no opinion of systems; I've known many men entirely ruined by them.

Pipeclay.—How so, Major?

O'Sheevo.—Why, I knew a man who used to get a little jolly two or three times a-week, as occasion invited. Some well-meaning friends reproached him with the irregularity of his life, and pestered him to adopt a system, which, for the sake of peace and quietness, he at last did, and got blazing drunk every night; his own spirit didn't like the foreign invasion, and evacuated the place—that was system!

Lovell.—We don't much relish the idea of foreign invasion ourselves.

Pipeclay.—Let 'em come. If they intend to get a regular footing here, they would probably make a dash at Portland island.

Oldham.—Now my idea is this. Suppose them embarked in steamers, and starting for a point on our coast,—a few old fellows, who know what Frenchmen are made of, are stationed at all the landing-places, while a railway communication enables them to be quickly collected in one point.

Pipeclay.—I should object to old fellows as unfit for such sharp duties: active, intelligent young men would be better.

Oldham.—Pshaw! what's theory against Frenchmen? give me the old second battalion of the 107th before all the boys in the service.

Pipeclay.—And give me smart youngsters, who would move.

Oldham.—I'd like to see such Johnny Raws oppose a landing.

Pipeclay.—It stands to reason they must be better than a parcel of old worn-out sinners.

O'Sheevo.—Bravo! I'd like to hear this question fairly handled. You see, Lovell, that's the advantage of military breeding; we can discuss these topics without the rudenesses that you observe in civil life. Every man, young or old, may give his opinion, and be patiently listened to at a mess table.

Lovell.—It is certainly a great advantage.

Oldham.—I must maintain the superiority of veteran troops for all important duties;—you see a parcel of recruits would play the devil,—it's all stuff!

Lovell.—But, if I may be allowed to remark—

Oldham.—You, sir! damme! what should you know about it? What are you, eh? A stripling, a mere stripling. By Jove, sir, if you had been in the 107th, you would have seen what they thought of such forwardness.

Lovell.—You really mistake me,—I had no intention—

O'Sheevo.—Well, well; but you mustn't be obstinate you know, my boy, in matters that you can't possibly know much about; you can never learn any thing that way.

Pipeclay.—You should have a little modesty, Lovell.O'Sheevo.—We're a liberal set of fellows here; but, by Jove, Lovell, I've known many a man that would have asked you to a leaden breakfast. Young Spanker of the 18th was called out by old Mullins for only asking him to repeat the number of oysters he said he ate in his great bet with M'Gobble. They fired six shots without effect, and Mullins was thought very lenient in not asking for an apology or the seventh.

Oldham.—Oh! the service would go to the devil if youngsters were allowed to lay down the law.

Pipeclay.—That would never do.

Oldham.—A strange file was that old Mullins you were talking of. Our second battalion was quartered with the 18th once, in Chatham barracks, when there were some memorable sittings.

Pipeclay.—I saw old Mullins once only, and then I could form little opinion of him, as he was half screwed.

O'Sheevo.—Half screwed! you must be mistaken.

Pipeclay.—I assure you I am rather under the mark in saying half screwed.

O'Sheevo.—Ah! I knew he never made so near an approach to sobriety as to be half screwed.

Oldham.—He would have been the fellow to receive the French! Come, now, Lovell, I'll show you, if you won't be obstinate and contradictory.

Lovell.—Upon my word, Oldham—

Oldham.—There you, fly out again now; it's impossible to do any thing with a youngster unless he has a tractable disposition. Here now, as I said, is Cherbourg,—here Portsmouth,—this little streak that I draw with my finger, the Channel. Jersey is somewhere there by the devilled biscuits; dy'e understand, Lovell?

Lovell.—Thank you, I do.

Oldham.—Good. Then this is our coast well manned, throughout its length, with troops: steady tried troops, mind, none of your gaping, staring boys:—well protected.

Pipeclay.—How protected?

Oldham.—How should I know? The engineers do that; of course they'd protect 'em with glacis, or ravelins or tenailles, or some of those damned jawbreaking named things;—well protected by works and cannon.

O'Sheevo.—Did you see that extraordinary cannon that West made in the mess-room this morning?

Pipeclay.—Ah! yes,—not bad, but I've seen finer strokes than that. You should have seen Legge of the 32d play.

Lovell.—Or Chowse of the artillery; by Jove! how he knocks about the balls! like an Indian juggler.

O'Sheevo.—Both good hands; ye're not a bad fist at billiards yourself, Oldham.

Oldham.—I seldom play now;—getting old;—played many a good match in the 107th's mess-room; but I think I could astonish Master West.

Pipeclay.—Well, if he'll play a match, I don't mind backing him against you even.

O'Sheevo.—And I'll go five to four on the youngster to make the thing worth your while.

Oldham.—Oh! no, no; 'twouldn't do for me to be playing matches with a raw recruit like that: 'twouldn't be dignified.

O'Sheevo.—Would it be more dignified if I said three to two?

Oldham.—Say two to one and I don't mind a rubber;—one rubber, remember.

O'Sheevo.—Done then. Let's have it to-morrow, if we can. West comes off guard in the morning, so there's the more chance of his being steady and willing to play; when they get hold of him overnight, he's always shaky and sulky next day till four or five o'clock. A bad constitution is a sad tell-tale under a red coat; a bishop chokes, or an anti-corn-law leaguer is attacked with pleurisy from his exertions in the cause of humanity; a lawyer's nose gets red from having his mind continually on the stretch; but if an ensign's colours only tremble a little in a strong gale, he's set down for a hard goer.

Pipeclay.—It's a great thing to be able to carry one's liquor well.

O'Sheevo.—Rather it's a dreadful misfortune when you can't. I always fancy that when a man can't show a bold face the morning after, he's been a great sinner.

Oldham.—Or that his forefathers have been so; I believe that posterity have to expiate the sins of their ancestors.

O'Sheevo.—But, as a man can neither be his ancestors nor his posterity, I don't see that he need mind that.

Pipeclay.—His ancestors' posterity is surely his affair.

O'Sheevo.—It's quite enough for a man to think of his own posterity without minding that of his ancestors.

Pipeclay.—He can't well help minding his ancestors when he daily and hourly feels the effects of their indiscretions.

O'Sheevo.—But d'ye mean to say that if all his ancestors were fast men, the whole of their diseases would be accumulated on his shoulders?

Pipeclay.—Not exactly. These things wear out in time, or are got rid of by crossing the breed; the nearer in time a man is to his rollicking ancestor, the more plainly he shows the hereditary taint.

O'Sheevo.—Then if he's his contemporary he's as bad as himself. I don't think, though, that my father showed the want of the Ballyswig estate a bit more than I do. Bad luck to my old aunt who forgot her successors though her ancestors remembered her.

Oldham.—Buzza that jug, Lovell, and touch the bell for another; these discussions make one thirsty.

O'Sheevo.—Thirst is nothing here to what it is in the tropics. By Jove! how I used to suffer at Jamaica.

Lovell.—Nature is said to have there provided for the craving by a bountiful supply of water. The name Jamaica signifies, I believe, the "Isle of Springs." You had excellent water there, Major, had you not?

O'Sheevo.—I always understood the water was very good, but I can't exactly remember that I ever tasted it. Nature is an affectionate mother, but there's no nourishment in her milk, so I put myself out to nurse upon sangree and portercup.

Pipeclay.—Nasty, unwholesome stuff; there's a yellow fever in every glass of it.

O'Sheevo.—It may be one of the ingredients; but that's no matter, if it's well mixed, because the other things correct it.

Oldham.—Our old second battalion buried I don't know how many in the seven years they spent out there. They always took the more intricate mixtures in the day time;—madeira and champagne at dinner, claret after, and topped up with brandy and water; after which they adjourned to settle, in the morning light, any little affairs of honour that had turned up in the evening.

Lovell.—Were these of so regular occurrence?

Oldham.—Seldom missed a night. The old cotton tree outside the mess-room, at Stoney Hill, was always one of the stations; and as full of bullets as a pudding is of plums. It was settling every thing before the meeting separated that made us such a united jolly set of fellows.

Pipeclay.—How much better we do things in the present day!

Oldham.—Another of your modern prejudices. How can any man of spirit think the investigations, explanations, and newspaper correspondence as creditable as settling the matter off-hand and like gentlemen?

Pipeclay.—But a duel does not always settle the right and wrong of an affair; and surely the party in the wrong ought to be the sufferer. Human life has a higher value than in old times; and, therefore, to avoid the casualties caused by duels, the laws punish the duellist.

O'Sheevo.—That's just it. In old times, if a man was killed there was an end; but now, to show the value of human life, the law hangs the survivor. The fact is, they find it necessary to thin the population, and so they take two for one, as we do with the glasses.

Oldham.—I'm afraid, Pipeclay, you and I will never agree in these matters. It's a pity you never had the advantage of seeing a little active service, which would have enlightened you far more than all my preaching. We'll hope better things for these youngsters before they become irretrievably bigoted to these milk-and-water prejudices. Well now, Lovell, d'ye think you understand all I said about the French invasion? If you don't, ask, and I'll give you any explanation my experience supplies, with pleasure.

Lovell.—I don't exactly understand how you would proceed after guarding your coast, and the enemy being off and on the shore.

Oldham.—Why, man, you never will understand if you don't attend. Here have I been talking this hour and a half exactly on that point, and you know no more about it than if I had not said a word. You must see, Lovell, that if you are thinking about horses, and women, and all sorts of nonsense, while I'm talking to you, you never can make a soldier. You should have seen our boys in the 107th. They would sit for hours and hold their breaths, while some old fire-eater told 'em his adventures and gave 'em advice.

O'Sheevo.—Then they must have been as long-winded as he was.

Oldham.—Pshaw! Nothing of that sort ever seemed long-winded: the interest was thrilling, and every body was unhappy when a story was ended.

O'Sheevo.—Except the man that was going to tell the next.

Oldham.—But really I wish we could get these youngsters to think a little more on professional subjects. I'm sure I'm always willing to give 'em any instruction in my power; and I think, Major, you'd not be behindhand in teaching the young idea how to shoot.

O'Sheevo.—No, no, Oldham; every one to his trade,—that's the adjutant's business.

Oldham.—I don't mean literally that you'd show them how to let off a musket, but that you'd mould their dispositions, and guide their ardour to the best advantage.

O'Sheevo.—My maxims are all summed up in a short sentence which I learnt from old Mullins himself, who found it carry him and his pupils through with honour—"Fear God and keep your powder dry." It's pithy, you see, and doesn't burden the memory.

Pipeclay.—A liberal education for ingenuous youth.

O'Sheevo.—I gave it for nothing, and so did old Mullins; so it's liberal enough, and the youth will be devilish ingenious if they find out any thing better.

Oldham.—I never, myself, see any good come of the hair-splitting and lawyering of the new school; indeed, I don't know what could be better than our second battalion was. Nowadays, by Jove! any whipper-snapper jackanapes, with a pocket full of money and the grimaces of a dancing-master, walks easily to the top of the tree, while an old soldier's services go for nothing. What did the Duke himself say to me thirty-five years ago? Never mind, damme!

Lovell.—Indeed! what did he say?

Oldham.—Never you mind what he said; he'll never say it to you. An infernal system when fellows sit at a desk and think they're soldiers. I'm no office man, damme! leading on is my forte; let them promote quill-drivers and milksops if they like, what does Dick Oldham care? I've been bred among the right sort, and I'll go to my grave a real soldier, if not a fortunate one.

O'Sheevo.—That's true, Oldham; when they fire over you, old boy, 'twont be the first time you smelt powder.

Lovell.—I hope Oldham will have another meeting or two with his old friends over the water before that.

Oldham.—Oh! confound it! don't say a word about it; they'll soon forget what a soldier used to be. It's sickening—by Jove! sickening. I'd have been a colonel of infantry before now, if there'd been any thing like justice. Never mind.

O'Sheevo.—It's not too late yet. They must have soldiers where there's danger; they'll restore the old second battalion of the 107th, when the French come, and you'll command it yet.

Oldham.—Ugh! bother! (Sleeps.)

Pipeclay.—I thought so. The detail of his grievances, and a lamentation over modern degeneracy, are generally the prelude to a nap; fine old fellow, if he wasn't so sadly bigoted.

O'Sheevo.—Yes, but when means are scarce, men are driven into extremes; we sometimes overrate our capacities; if our friend here were to be put into a colonel of infantry's shoes to-morrow, he'd not find his position a bed of roses.

Lovell.—I wish he'd gone on about the coast defences, that's what I wanted to hear.

O'Sheevo.—Sure, that's very ungrateful of you, when we've all been talking for your edification.

Pipeclay.—Patience, Lovell, patience; you can't learn all the art of war in a minute; follow the thing up, and you'll know all about it by-and-by. A death vacancy'll be giving me my step, some of these days, and I should like to throw my mantle over you, I confess.

O'Sheevo.—D'ye, mean that seedy old cloak that you've used these last fifteen years? if any one was to throw such a thing over me, I should consider it a personal affront.

Pipeclay.—You're so literal, Major.

O'Sheevo.—Ye're wrong there; I never composed any thing in my life, more to be blushed for than punch or sangree, and there's nothing literal in them except their being liquids.

Pipeclay.—But I meant if Lovell could be eligible to succeed me in the adjutancy.

O'Sheevo.—Oh! Lovell'll do very well by-and-by; those duties of yours are a little unpalatable at first; but by working at them they become easier, and an effort beyond that will make you do them quite involuntarily.

Pipeclay.—There's encouragement for you, Lovell; the Major thinks you'll do, and I've great hopes of you myself.

Lovell.—You're very good, I'm sure. Military discussions interest me much; I'm only anxious to hear you go on.

Pipeclay.—It's getting late now; another time we'll resume the subject.

O'Sheevo.—Yes, in a day or two. It's very good to rub up a little military stuff occasionally, but it is bad taste to be always talking shop. We've had a good dose for to-night, and to-morrow we must have a little light, easy conversation. Touch Oldham's arm, will you, Pipeclay, and let's jog. (Pipeclay shakes Oldham.)

Oldham.—Damned forward young humbugs! what the devil do they know about it? eh? what, going to mizzle?

O'Sheevo.—Yes, the jug's empty, and I'm telling Lovell he must come again, and he'll like it better, and we'll make a soldier of him at last.

Oldham.—Ah! I'm afraid you'll do no good with any of them nowadays; he should have been in the 107th. Well, good-night, Lovell; we'll do what we can.

O'Sheevo—Pipeclay.—Good-night, Lovell; sleep upon it.

(Exeunt Pipeclay, O'Sheevo, and Oldham. Lovell remains to light a cigar.)

Lovell.—Good-night. Well, I don't know but I might have spent the evening just as profitably if I'd gone to Jones's room, as he asked me. These old fellows are devilish close. However, patience, as the adjutant says. (Exit.)