On a trip to London, he fell in love with, and married a celebrated belle of that city. It would seem that he was very much taken with his English relations, and they with him, for after his marriage, they would not suffer him to revisit his parents, who doted on him, being their only son, but detained him with them in London, as gay as a young man well could be, in the gayest city in the world, moving every day in the highest circles of society, and every night encircled in the fond arms of a beauteous wife. But soon as the war against America broke out, his gaiety all forsook him. The idea of a ruffian soldiery overrunning his native land, preyed incessantly on his spirits, and threw him into those brown studies which cost his lady full many a tear. Unable to bear his disquietude, he fled at length from his wife and infant family, to fight for his country. He presented himself before the great Washington, who was so struck with the fire that beamed from his eyes, that he made him handsome offers of rank in the army. But his favorite service was to lead `forlorn hopes', and the daring bands that are destined to carry the enemy's works by storm. Washington often gave him letters to this effect to his generals. And this was his object at Savannah, where a regiment of choice infantry was immediately put under his command. But instead of being permitted his favorite pleasure of seeing his ardent warriors mounting the enemy's works, and rushing down streams of fire, followed by the bayonet, he was doomed to fret and pine in the humble office of interpreter between count D'Estang and general Lincoln. "But, Monsieur le count," said Laurens to D'Estang, "the American officers say they are afraid you have given the English too long time to think." At this, as Laurens told us afterwards, the count put on a most comic stare, and breaking into a hearty laugh, replied, "De Engleesh think! ha, ha, ha! By gar dat one ver good parole! De Engleesh tink, heh, Monsieur le colonel! By gar, de Engleesh never tink but for deir bellie. Give de Jack Engleeshman plenty beef -- plenty pudding -- plenty porter, by gar he never tink any more, he lay down, he go a sleep like vun hog." "But, Monsieur le count," continued Laurens, "the English are doing worse for us than thinking. They are working away like horses, and will soon get their defences too high for us to scale." "Eh, heh, Monsieur le colonel! you think-a so? Well den, by gar you no need for tink-a so -- by gar my French-a-mans run over de fence just like vun tief horse run over de cornfield fence -- mind now I tell-a you dat, Monsieur le colonel." "Well, but Monsieur le count, the British sometimes fight like the d---l."