‘Orders were gi’en fer an illumination. “That I’ll do wi’ a’ my heart,” says I, “for I hope my laddie’s on his passage hame.” “O mother?” cried Mary, “here’s the postman wi’ a letter for you.” My heart lap to my mouth—I ran into the room and tore’t open—“This will be gude news frae Willie. O Mary, read it, for I’m sae flurried that I canna read.” “Preserve us,” says she, “that’s no Willie’s writing.” “Never mind,” says I; “read, read.” She read on hurriedly to hersel’, but while she read, her face turn’d ghastly pale—the letter drapped frae her hands—“O! mother, he’s kill’d,”—and she sank down before me, without me havin’ power to help her. ‘Oh!’ said the old woman, passing her hand across her forehead. ‘I canna think about that day, but my head turns, and I’m no mysel’.’ CHAPTER VIII. DENNIS. My leave of absence flew swiftly by, and I had again to bid my friends farewell, and return to my regiment. When I arrived, I found my comrade Dennis, along with some others, standing in full marching order, with his arms carried, and his face within a few inches of the barrack wall, in which position he was sentenced to remain during three successive days, from sunrise to sunset, for being absent when the roll was called at tattoo. This was a new invented punishment, intended as a mild substitute for flogging, but in my opinion more severe and injurious to the health. Our moral physicians seem to consider bodily pain as the grand panacea for all errors of the mind. It is strange how precedent or prejudice should guide men of information on these points; it proceeds either from indolence, which prevents them thinking at all, or their passions are so much stronger than their reason, that they act contrary to their better judgment. The latter is the most common of the two.