's eye as
the _beau ideal_ of a military leader, by some fatality of fortune I was
continually incurring his displeasure, for whose praise I would have
risked my life. "And this confounded costume--What, in the name of every
absurdity, could have ever persuaded me to put it on. What signifies it,
though a man should cover himself with glory, if in the end he is to be
laughed at? Well, well, it matters not much, now my soldiering's over! And
yet I could have wished that the last act of my campaigning had brought
with it pleasanter recollections."

As thus I ruminated, the click of the soldier's musket near aroused me:
Picton was passing out. A shade of gloom and depression was visible upon
his features, and his lip trembled as he muttered some sentences to
himself.

"Ha! Captain--I forget the name. Yes, Captain O'Malley; you are released
from arrest. General Crawfurd has spoken very well of you, and Lord
Wellington has heard the circumstances of your case."

"Is it General Crawfurd, then, that is wounded, sir?" said I, eagerly.

Picton paused for a moment, while, with an effort, he controlled his
features into their stern and impassive expression, then added hurriedly
and almost harshly:--

Yes, sir; badly wounded through the arm and in the lung. He mentioned you
to the notice of the commander-in-chief, and your application for leave is
granted. In fact, you are to have the distinguished honor of carrying back
despatches. There, now; you had better join your brigade."

"Could I not see my general once more? It may be for the last time."

"No, sir!" sternly replied Picton. "Lord Wellington believes you under
arrest. It is as well he should suppose you obeyed his orders."

There was a tone of sarcasm in these words that prevented my reply; and
muttering my gratitude for his well-timed and kindly interference in my
behalf, I bowed deeply and turned away.

"I say, sir!" said Picton, as he returned towards the church, "should
anything befall,--that is, if, unfortunately, circumstances should make you
in want and desirous of a staff appointment, remember that you are known to
General Picton."

Downcast and depressed by the news of my poor general, I wended my way with
slow and uncertain steps towards the rampart. A clear, cold, wintry sky and
a sharp, bracing air made my wound, slight as it was, more painful, and
I endeavored to reach the reserves, where I knew the hospital-staff had
established, for the present, th