"So it is, damme! but old fellows who smelt powder against Washington at Brandywine, and under the Duke in Holland, at Alkmaar and Egmont-op-Zee, are now at the goose-step and pacing-stick; and woe to the private who fails to have the barrel and lock of his musket bright as silver, and his pouch bottled to perfection, so that he might shave or dress his pigtail in it. We have punishment parades, extra drills, kit-inspections, drums beating, bugles sounding all day, and often check-rolls thrice in the night, and orderlies flying all over the barracks like madmen, and all because old Jack Middleton has not enough of tin to purchase the lieutenant-colonelcy. There is little Pimple--by Jove! he'll not be in Colchester a week before the major frightens him into the measles." "Who is to succeed the lieutenant-colonel?" asked Warriston, who laughed at the subaltern's angry description of the state of matters at headquarters. "The Horse Guards, those Fates who sit on high over the British soldier, alone know. Some good kind of fellow, I hope, before I rejoin; for rather than serve under old Middleton (excuse me, Warriston, as he is a friend of yours) I'd send in my papers--go recruiting for the 2nd West India at Sierra Leone, or join that fine body of men, the York Rangers!" "What are they?" "A condemned corps, named for the good duke; but whose officers, damme, sleep at night with loaded pistols under their pillows, for fear of their own men." "This is not very cheering for you, Kennedy," said Warriston, laughing heartily; "but you must not mind all Monkton says." "No matter; I have given my word, and go I shall." It was evident that Monkton was a little soured, for he alternately vowed himself tired of the service and then an enthusiast for it, and his corps in particular; but he was rather blue-devilled this morning, and uncheered by the blue sunny sky and golden cornfields, the songs of the birds and mild morning breeze, he swore at the long dusty road and grumbled at the slowness of his promotion, and that by circumstances beyond his control, after fifteen years' service and having seen much fighting, he was only a lieutenant still; "but you will learn, ere long, Kennedy," he added, "that the lieutenants are the salt of the service, and do all the actual work. Middleton will judge of you, not from others, but from yourself alone. The battalion will likely go abroad under his orders; a month more may see us before the enemy, and you in possession of your epaulettes, if some poor sub--say Pimple here--is knocked on the head." "Thank you," said Boyle; "why not suggest yourself--one sub is the same as another." "Not all--not at all; it would be no use. They never hit me seriously in Flanders or Denmark, and they won't do it in Spain or North Holland."