3 he became pipeclay,--talked army list and eighteen manoeuvres, lamented the various changes in equipments which modern innovation had introduced, and feared the loss of pigtails might sap the military spirit of the nation.
With No.

4 his anecdotic powers came into play,--he recounted various incidents of the war with his own individual adventures and experience, told with an honest _naivete_, that proved personal vanity; indeed, self-respect never marred the interest of the narrative, besides, as he had ever regarded a campaign something in the light of a foray, and esteemed war as little else than a pillage excursion, his sentiments were singularly amusing.
With his last bottle, those feelings that seemed inevitably connected with whatever is last appeared to steal over him,--a tinge of sadness for pleasures fast passing and nearly passed, a kind of retrospective glance at the fallacy of all our earthly enjoyments, insensibly suggesting moral and edifying reflections, led him by degrees to confess that he was not quite satisfied with himself, though "not very bad for a commissary;" and finally, as the decanter waxed low, he would interlard his meditations by passages of Scripture, singularly perverted by his misconception from their true meaning, and alternately throwing out prospects of censure or approval.

Such was Major Monsoon; and to conclude in his own words this brief sketch, he "would have been an excellent officer if Providence had not made him such a confounded, drunken, old scoundrel." "Now, then, for the King of Spain's story.

Out with it, old boy; we are all good men and true here," cried Power, as we slowly came along upon the tide up the Tagus, "so you've nothing to fear." "Upon my life," replied the major, "I don't half like the tone of our conversation.

There is a certain freedom young men affect now a-days regarding morals that is not at all to my taste.