was to allude, in the most insulting terms, to the affront given a few days before to the officer; and in so loud a voice, that it was evident he intended that the allusions should be heard; he talked of white feathers, “shy cocks,” &c. all which the officer appeared to take no notice of, so that the talker became “stronger in his strength,” and blustered away in such a manner as made all who heard him suppose he was a most determined fire-eater, and that his stomach would digest lead with as much ease as a cock ostrich's would a horse's shoe. Nothing farther took place in the affair that evening, and all parties separated; but next morning the _denouement_ was brought about, which I have no doubt was as little expected by Mr. Swagger as that he himself was not a “monstrous excellent” gentleman. The officer's friend called upon him ere he was out of bed; and in sending up his card, intimated that he would wait until the gentleman had “made his toilette.” Word was immediately returned, that he might “walk up.” On perceiving the countenance and air of the visitor, the hero of cups, who had not yet stirred from his bed, made an effort to conceal his fears by a forced compliment; and when he learned the nature of the visit clearly, and saw that there was no loop-hole open for a jump, he declared solemnly he did not recollect a single word which passed from his lips the night before, and offered to make the most ample apology. He was therefore requested to rise, which he did with the obedience of a timid child; and having done so, was directed to write down, word after word, one of the most humiliating apologies that a determined head could dictate; and having done so, was farther _requested_ to appear in the coffee-room where the insult passed, and to read the paper to the company. Even this he agreed to; but it was only an agreement, for he never appeared at the appointed place; his regiment was ordered home to be disbanded, so he started off to England by the next packet. The apology, however, was read in the coffee-room, and afforded an admirable lesson to any swaggerer who might have been present.[15] Our French neighbours, who would have us to think they would fly to the field of single combat as readily as would a cock pheasant, are not without the swaggering white feather. I recollect some instances of this—particularly when the British army arrived victorious at Bordeaux, the field of ancient British glory. Scarcely an officer or soldier could, whilst we were there, escape a fight of some sort. Our soldiers, who cared neither for duelling nor its laws, levelled, in good style, the insulters, by a few “_facers_,” _à la_ Cribb, and settled the contest by committing their antagonists' heads to chancery; but the officers had as many duels to provide for daily, while amongst the Gascons, as they had tradesmen's bills; all which they settled as honourable men should settle their accounts—by paying off every one in his own coin.