The Sergeant bore his faculties right meekly, and promoted the restoration of _l’ancien régime_ to the utmost of his abilities. During his administration people began to talk with some little degree of freedom, although at first they were much awed by the laurels and the scars of their president. They had a wondrous idea of the wisdom he had attained upon his travels. How could they talk of politics in his presence? Why, gracious! he had held the Emperor o’ Russia’s stirrup at Petersburg, and taken off his hat to the Pope o’ Rome--ay! and caught a glimpse o’ Boney to boot. Then, as to religious matters! why the Vicar was nothing to him: he had seen some nations that pray cross-legged, and some that pray in the open air, and some that don’t pray at all; and he had been to St. Peter’s, and a place they call the Pantheon, and all among the convents and nunneries, where they shut up young folk to make clergymen of them. It is not surprising that all this condensation of knowledge produced much veneration in the neighbourhood; it wore off, however, rapidly, and his companions began to enjoy the tales of his hardships, his privations, his battles, and his triumphs, without any feeling of distance or dissatisfaction. Enchanted by the stories he told, enchanted still more by the enthusiasm with which he told them, the _Patres Conscripti_ began to despise their hitherto pacific habits; they carried their sticks on their shoulders, instead of trailing them on the ground; they longed To follow to the field some warlike lord; all of them began to look big, and one or two made some proficiency in swearing. By the edict of the dictator, the Biblical prints which were ranged round the chamber made room for coloured representations of Cressy and Agincourt; and the table was moved into such a situation as to give sufficient room for the manual exercise. The women of the village began to be frightened; Matthew Lock, a fine young man of eighteen, ran away to be listed; Mark Fender, a fine old man of eighty, lost an eye in learning parry tierce; two able-bodied artisans caught an ague by counter-marching in a shower; apprehensions of a military government began to be pretty general--when suddenly the dictator was taken off by an apoplexy. _Ibi omnis effusus labor!_ He died when the organization of the corps was just completed; he was carried to his final quarters in great state, and three pistols and a blunderbuss were fired over his grave. Why should we contemn his lowly sepulchre? He died--and so did Alexander.