‘I wish you to write a bit of a letter for me. Do you know, that when John was telling us about sending the money, I could have cried, so I could, to think that the whisky or the noise should put my old mother out of my head; and I owe John my blessing for putting me in mind of her. Now, there’s nothing like striking the iron while it’s hot; so just write me a bit of a line. I’ll send—let me see, (dividing the notes from the silver,) I’ll send the bits of paper, and keep the tenpennies, and much good may it do to the poor old creature.’ I wrote the letter accordingly, and having enclosed the money, Dennis got up to go to the post office. ‘Will you not drink before you go?’ ‘No, indeed, it wouldn’t go down.’ He was off and returning in a few minutes,— ‘Hand us the glass, now,’ said he, ‘for my throat’s clear, and my heart’s light.’ Many of the lads were now beginning to feel the bottom of their purse, and put on a sober face, but few of them, I believe, derived so much pleasure from a review of the manner in which they had spent their money as did my friends John and Dennis. By the end of a week things were restored to their usual routine; but the kindly feeling generated between us and the inhabitants did not so soon cease, for during the many months we remained there, we were on the very best terms with them. FOOTNOTES: [14] The story Dennis alluded to was certainly a dreadful one. Poor H. joined us a short time before we advanced through Spain, and being but a weakly boy, when we commenced the march, he was unable to keep up with the regiment. He reported himself sick, but the doctor finding that he complained of nothing but weakness, accused him of scheming, and scratched his name out of the report; this did not give him more strength, and he fell out the next day’s march. The officer of whom Dennis had expressed his dislike, being riding in the rear of the regiment, swore at him dreadfully, and threatened to turn him over to the provost and have him flogged if he would not keep up, but his threatenings were of no avail. Next day he was again reported sick, again accused of scheming, and sent to march with his company, and, as on the preceding day, was unable to keep pace with his comrades. He was given in charge to the rear guard, and Mr J. ordered two men of the guard to drag him along, and another to go behind him and prick him on with his bayonet; but all this cruelty was unavailing—they were obliged to give up dragging him, and leave him behind. During this time he had never complained, but his heart was broken. When he was left he crawled off the road into a field, and, tired of a world in which he had met with such cruel treatment, loaded his musket, and taking off his stocking, put his toe on the trigger, and blew out his brains. [15] In Ireland the buttermilk is brought into the towns in the churn, fastened on a common car. [16] A cant term for buttermilk. CHAPTER IV. COLONEL LLOYD.