en Mr. Wolfe and Mr. Lambert remonstrated with me as you have done,
madam," George rejoins, with a laugh, "I made this same defence which I
am making to you. I said I offered to the Prince the best soldier in the
family, and the two gentlemen allowed that my blunder at least had
some excuse. Who knows but that they may set me right with his Royal
Highness? The taste I have had of battles has shown me how little my
genius inclines that way. We saw the Scotch play which everybody is
talking about t'other night. And when the hero, young Norval, said how
he longed to follow to the field some warlike lord, I thought to myself,
'how like my Harry is to him, except that he doth not brag.' Harry is
pining now for a red coat, and if we don't mind, will take the shilling.
He has the map of Germany for ever under his eyes, and follows the King
of Prussia everywhere. He is not afraid of men or gods. As for me, I
love my books and quiet best, and to read about battles in Homer or
Lucan."

"Then what made a soldier of you at all, my dear? And why did you not
send Harry with Mr. Braddock, instead of going yourself?" asked Madame
de Bernstein.

"My mother loved her younger son the best," said George, darkly.
"Besides, with the enemy invading our country, it was my duty, as the
head of our family, to go on the campaign. Had I been a Scotchman twelve
years ago, I should have been a----"

"Hush, sir! or I shall be more angry than ever!" said the old lady, with
a perfectly pleased face.

George's explanation might thus appease Madame de Bernstein, an old
woman whose principles we fear were but loose: but to the loyal heart of
Sir Miles Warrington and his lady, the young man's conduct gave a severe
blow indeed! "I should have thought," her ladyship said, "from my sister
Esmond Warrington's letter, that my brother's widow was a woman of good
sense and judgment, and that she had educated her sons in a becoming
manner. But what, Sir Miles, what, my dear Thomas Claypool, can we think
of an education which has resulted so lamentably for both these young
men?"

"The elder seems to know a power of Latin, though, and speaks the
French and the German too. I heard him with the Hanover Envoy, at the
Baroness's rout," says Mr. Claypool. "The French he jabbered quite easy:
and when he was at a loss for the High Dutch, he and the Envoy began in
Latin, and talked away till all the room stared."

"It is not language, but principles, Thomas Claypool!