Though seventy winters had spent their storms upon his head, he stood erect and firm, and at that moment would have been a fine study for an artist. “To the right face!” said he, and the motion brought him full in my front; his hand was flourished to his hat in an instant, and from a countenance expressive of command, it changed to one of the most lively pleasure. “Oh, joy to the hour that I see your honour again! Faith! but delight is bateing the roll upon the drum of my heart, and every swate sensation is answering to the muster.” The children, no longer under control, were charging each other in front and rear, which annoying the veteran, he exclaimed, “Arrah be aisey, and don’t be after making such a hubaboo. Double quick time, march!” and off they started, as wild as young colts. “Are any of these your own?” inquired I. “Oh no, your honour,” he replied mournfully; “when the turf covers poor ould Pat, his lamp will be clane put out. But see at yon gossoon; oh, it makes my heart ache to look at him, for he has never a friend in the world, nor in Ireland eather, save and beside myself, your honour. Sure, isn’t he a darling of a boy, by token that he’s the very image of my own dare Norah. Come here, Casey, und spake to the gentleman; don’t stand rubbing your pate there.” A fine healthy lad with long flaxen curls approached, and took hold of my hand; but this did not altogether agree with the old soldier’s ideas of etiquette, and he continued addressing the youth, “Run off, you ragged rascal, and let his honour alone. Don’t stand grubbing with your ten toes, like a pig in a pratee garden. Faith, but he’s off; and now perhaps your honour would like to know a little more of my history? But first I’ll go back to the end, and tell you straight forward in a circuitous manner, that we mayn’t set out in a round about way. “Sure and wasn’t it at Monte Video that you left me last? And faith, I might have staid there till death, and longer, but they ordered me up for Boney’s Airs; and och, hone, but we suffered severely at that place, marching up to our middles in water without rations and without rest for three days. And then the assault,--bad luck to the divil!--didn’t we charge into the town with our bagnets, and nothing but our hammers in the locks? and that, too, where every house was a battery in itself, and we had no enemy to meet on plain ground? By the powers of Moll Kelly, but they knocked us down like bastes in a slaughter-house, and divil a rap could we give ’em again. Only think, your honour, of straight streets crossing each other at right angles, so that a nine-pounder at the end of one street was a defence for the whole; and then they pulled down a part of the cathedral, so that nothing might stop the shot.