e
fellows have been caught by ten thousand on a seashore, and that fate
has overtaken them which is said to befall the hindmost? I had a mind
to design an authentic picture of the rejoicings at London upon our
glorious success at St. Malo. I fancied the polished guns dragged in
procession by our gallant tars; the stout horse-grenadiers prancing by;
the mob waving hats, roaring cheers, picking pockets, and our friends in
a balcony in Fleet Street looking on and blessing this scene of British
triumph. But now that the French Invalides have been so vulgar as to
imitate the Tower, and set up their St. Cas against our St. Malo, I
scorn to allude to the stale subject. I say Nolo, not Malo: content, for
my part, if Harry has returned from one expedition and t'other with a
whole skin. And have I ever said he was so much as bruised? Have I not,
for fear of exciting my fair young reader, said that he was as well as
ever he had been in his life? The sea air had browned his cheek, and
the ball whistling by his side-curl had spared it. The ocean had wet his
gaiters and other garments, without swallowing up his body. He had, it
is true, shown the lapels of his coat to the enemy; but for as short a
time as possible, withdrawing out of their sight as quick as might be.
And what, pray, are lapels but reverses? Coats have them, as well as
men; and our duty is to wear them with courage and good-humour.

"I can tell you," said Harry, "we all had to run for it; and when our
line broke, it was he who could get to the boats who was most lucky. The
French horse and foot pursued us down to the sea, and were mingled
among us, cutting our men down, and bayoneting them on the ground. Poor
Armytage was shot in advance of me, and fell; and I took him up and
staggered through the surf to a boat. It was lucky that the sailors in
our boat weren't afraid; for the shot were whistling about their ears,
breaking the blades of their oars, and riddling their flag with shot;
but the officer in command was as cool as if he had been drinking a bowl
of punch at Portsmouth, which we had one on landing, I can promise you.
Poor Sir John was less lucky than me. He never lived to reach the ship,
and the service has lost a fine soldier, and Miss Howe a true gentleman
to her husband. There must be these casualties, you see; and his brother
gets the promotion--the baronetcy."

"It is of the poor lady I am thinking," says Miss Hetty (to whom haply
our volunteer is telli