f
purchase, which sets up the highest honors for sale, as they did in the
Roman empire--"

My father pricked up his ears; but Uncle jack pushed on before my father
could get ready the forces of his meditated interruption.

"A system which a little effort, a little union, can so easily
terminate. Yes, sir," and Uncle Jack thumped the table, and two cherries
bobbed up and smote Captain de Caxton on the nose, "yes, sir, I will
undertake to say that I could put the army upon a very different
footing. If the poorer and more meritorious gentlemen, like Captain
de Caxton, would, as I was just observing, but unite in a grand
anti-aristocratic association, each paying a small sum quarterly, we
could realize a capital sufficient to out-purchase all these undeserving
individuals, and every man of merit should have his fair chance of
promotion."

"Egad! sir," said Squills, "there is something grand in that, eh,
Captain?"

"No, sir," replied the Captain, quite seriously; "there is in monarchies
but one fountain of honor. It would be an interference with a soldier's
first duty,--his respect for his sovereign."

"On the contrary," said Mr. Squills, "it would still be to the
sovereigns that one would owe the promotion."

"Honor," pursued the Captain, coloring up, and unheeding this witty
interruption, "is the reward of a soldier. What do I care that a young
jackanapes buys his colonelcy over my head? Sir, he does not buy from me
my wounds and my services. Sir, he does not buy from me the medal I
won at Waterloo. He is a rich man, and I am a poor man; he is
called--colonel, because he paid money for the name. That pleases him;
well and good. It would not please me; I had rather remain a captain,
and feel my dignity, not in my title, but in the services by which it
has been won. A beggarly, rascally association of stock-brokers, for
aught I know, buy me a company! I don't want to be uncivil, or I would
say damn 'em--Mr.--sir--Jack!"

A sort of thrill ran through the Captain's audience; even Uncle Jack
seemed touched, for he stared very hard at the grim veteran, and said
nothing. The pause was awkward; Mr. Squills broke it. "I should like,"
quoth he, "to see your Waterloo medal,--you have it not about you?"

"Mr. Squills," answered the Captain, "it lies next to my heart while I
live. It shall be buried in my coffin, and I shall rise with it, at the
word of command, on the day of the Grand Review!" So saying, the Captain
leisure