s here that the old tired soldier set himself down with his little
family. He had passed the greater part of his life in meritorious
exertion in the service of his country, and his chief wish now was to
spend the remainder of his days in quiet and respectability; his means,
it is true, were not very ample; fortunate it was that his desires
corresponded with them: with a small fortune of his own, and with his
half-pay as a royal soldier, he had no fears for himself or for his
faithful partner and helpmate; but then his children! how was he to
provide for them? how launch them upon the wide ocean of the world? This
was, perhaps, the only thought which gave him uneasiness, and I believe
that many an old retired officer at that time, and under similar
circumstances, experienced similar anxiety; had the war continued, their
children would have been, of course, provided for in the army, but peace
now reigned, and the military career was closed to all save the scions of
the aristocracy, or those who were in some degree connected with that
privileged order, an advantage which few of these old officers could
boast of; they had slight influence with the great, who gave themselves
very little trouble either about them or their families.

"I have been writing to the Duke," said my father one day to my excellent
mother, after we had been at home somewhat better than a year, "I have
been writing to the Duke of York about a commission for that eldest boy
of ours. He, however, affords me no hopes; he says that his list is
crammed with names, and that the greater number of the candidates have
better claims than my son."

"I do not see how that can be," said my mother.

"Nor do I," replied my father. "I see the sons of bankers and merchants
gazetted every month, and I do not see what claims they have to urge,
unless they be golden ones. However, I have not served my king fifty
years to turn grumbler at this time of life. I suppose that the people
at the head of affairs know what is most proper and convenient; perhaps
when the lad sees how difficult, nay, how impossible it is that he should
enter the army, he will turn his mind to some other profession; I wish he
may!"

"I think he has already," said my mother; "you see how fond he is of the
arts, of drawing and painting, and, as far as I can judge, what he has
already done is very respectable; his mind seems quite turned that way,
and I heard him say the other day that he would