The colonel gave us an excellent dinner, wine admirably cooled, foaming pale ale—India’s prime luxury—and some capital home-fed mutton. There were five or six officers present, and the conversation, which was unrestrained and agreeable, turned upon old recollections of former stations; on the prospect of promotion and war or rather war and promotion, for such is their natural order; and gave me a greater insight into what was passing in the Indian military world than I had yet enjoyed. Being young, and a griffin, I thought it was better for me to listen than to be prominently loquacious; and it was fortunate that I adopted this conclusion, for, amongst other topics, the extreme forwardness and assurance of the youth of the present—_i.e._ of that day—was discussed with much animation. “It’s too true, I fear,” said the colonel; “they don’t conduct themselves as the young lads did in my juvenile days. I remember,” said he, with the regretful air of the _laudator temporis acti_, “when I was a young man and first came out, we thought it necessary and proper to exhibit some little deference and respect to our seniors in age and rank—some reserve and diffidence in our opinions, not, however, inconsistent with a due degree of firmness and self-respect; but now, forsooth, your beardless younker, fresh from school, claps you on the shoulder, and is hail-fellow-well-met with you in an instant, exhibiting all the confidence of a man of fifty—quite destitute of that master-charm of modesty, which, in man or woman, takes so powerful a hold on the affections and good-will.” These observations, though perhaps true in themselves, I thought a little ill-timed, and not wholly consistent with his own proceedings. However, they were cordially assented to by some of the “old hands” present, particularly by one ill-dressed, caustic, and slovenly old captain, named Langneb. “You’re right, colonel, quite right, sir; they’re all major-generals now, sir, at starting; know everything and care for nobody. There’s young Snapper, who joined us the other day—an idle, dissipated young scamp; keeps four horses, gives champagne tiffins, and is spending three times the amount of his pay—hailed me only last night in the park by my surname, sir—no prefix, by George! no handle, though I haven’t spoken to him five times—told me I had got a pretty beast there (meaning my horse), and asked me for the loan of my buggy to-morrow! What do you think of that, sir? Never met such a forward, self-sufficient young fellow in all my life; but he’s going to the dogs as fast as he can.”