ake too much
time for me. I never was born to sit on the woolsack. No; if I were to
follow my own inclination, I should be a soldier."

I have already said that I have been, throughout life, a kind of
believer in omens. I have seen such a multitude of things decided by
some curious coincidence, some passing occurrence, some of those odd
trifles for which it is impossible to account, but which occur at the
instant when the mind is wavering on the balance; that I feel no wonder
at the old superstitions of guessing our destiny from the shooting of a
star, or the flight of birds. While we were rambling onward, discussing
the merits and demerits of the profession of arms, we heard the winding
of the mail-guard's horn. I sprang the fence, and waited in the road to
enquire the last news from the metropolis. It was momentous--the
Revolution had effectually broken out. Paris was in an uproar. The
king's guards had taken up arms for the people. The Bastile was stormed!

If I had hesitated before, this news decided me; not that I pretend to
have even dreamed of the tremendous changes which were to be produced in
the world by that convulsion. But it struck me as the beginning of a
time, when the lazy quietude of years was about to be broken up, and
room made for all who were inclined to exert themselves. Before we had
reached the level lawns and trim parterres which showed us the lights of
the family festivity, I had settled all the difficulties which might
impede the career of less fortunate individuals; time and chance were
managed with the adroitness of a projector; and if Bellona had been one
of the Nine Muses, my speculations could not have been more poetical.
Somewhat to my surprise, they received no check from my venerable tutor;
quite the contrary. The singular sympathy with which he listened to my
most daring and dashing conceptions, would have betrayed his early
history if I had still the knowledge to acquire. His very looks, as he
listened to my rodomontades, recurred to me, when I read, many years
after, Scott's fine description of his soldier-monk in the Lay of the
Last Minstrel:--

"Again on the knight look'd the churchman old,
And again he sigh'd heavily,
For he had himself been a warrior bold,
And fought in Spain and Italy.
And he thought on the days that were long gone by,
When his limbs were strong, and his courage was high."

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