Such is a rapid outline of the past history of this famous old corps, in the ranks of which Quentin Kennedy hoped to achieve for himself a position and a name--perhaps, rank and glory too! What boy does not look forward to some such vague but brilliant future,-- "In life's morning march when the bosom is young." The evening subsequent to the punishment parade was the _last_ on which the battalion mess would assemble, and Quentin was Monkton's guest. He was again seated near the worthy major, and from him he learned much of what we have just narrated, many a quaint regimental story being woven up with what was actual military history. "You should tell him of that startling adventure, or rather, I should say, of those series of adventures, which happened to you when commanding an out-picquet in America," said Colville, with a significant but hasty glance at Monkton, for the frequent repetition of this story formed a kind of covert joke against the worthy major. "What--which out-picquet--at the siege of Fort St. John?" "Exactly, Major," said Monkton. "St. John, on the Richelieu River?" asked Quentin. "Yes," said Middleton, with an air of gratification; "you are a very intelligent young man, and have no doubt read of the defence of that place." Quentin hastened to say that he _had_ heard of it; in fact, the defence with all its details--the bravery of Majors Preston and André of the Cameronians, and so forth--formed one of the stock stories of his old friends, the quartermaster and Jack Andrews; and so frequently had he heard it, that he was somewhat uncertain at times that he had not served there too. "But the episode of yours, with that devilish Indian fellow, may scare Kennedy when on sentry," said the adjutant, "a duty he must do as a volunteer." "Scare--not at all!" said Middleton, testily; "it is the very thing to sharpen his wits and to keep him wide awake. There are others here who never heard the story, and it is worth listening to; but before I begin we must send away the marines and replenish the decanters." "Right!" cried Askerne, who was president; "this is the last night of one of the jolliest messes in His Majesty's service. To-morrow the plate, which has glittered before us so long--the crystal from which we have imbibed the full bodied port, the creamy claret, and the choice Madeira, the sparkling champagne, the old hock, in fact, 'the entire plant,' to use a commercial phrase, will be packed up and stored away among dust and cobwebs, while the Borderers march in quest of 'fresh fields and pastures new.' A long farewell to our glorious mess!" exclaimed the handsome grenadier, as he poured a glass of port down his capacious throat. "Mr. Vice-President, order the last cooper of port before the major begins his story."