of my
health.

I have never met a young man more addicted to debauchery than O'Neilan. I
have often spent the night rambling about with him, and I was amazed at
his cynical boldness and impudence. Yet he was noble, generous, brave,
and honourable. If in those days young officers were often guilty of so
much immorality, of so many vile actions, it was not so much their fault
as the fault of the privileges which they enjoyed through custom,
indulgence, or party spirit. Here is an example:

One day O'Neilan, having drunk rather freely, rides through the city at
full speed. A poor old woman who was crossing the street has no time to
avoid him, she falls, and her head is cut open by the horse's feet.
O'Neilan places himself under arrest, but the next day he is set at
liberty. He had, only to plead that it was an accident.

The officer Laurent not having called upon me to redeem his promisory
note of six sequins during the week, I told him in the street that I
would no longer consider myself bound to keep the affair secret. Instead
of excusing himself, he said,

"I do not care!"

The answer was insulting, and I intended to compel him to give me
reparation, but the next day O'Neilan told me that Captain Laurent had
gone mad and had been locked up in a mad-house. He subsequently recovered
his reason, but his conduct was so infamous that he was cashiered.

O'Neilan, who was as brave as Bayard, was killed a few years afterwards
at the battle of Prague. A man of his complexion was certain to fall the
victim of Mars or of Venus. He might be alive now if he had been endowed
only with the courage of the fox, but he had the courage of the lion. It
is a virtue in a soldier, but almost a fault in an officer. Those who
brave danger with a full knowledge of it are worthy of praise, but those
who do not realize it escape only by a miracle, and without any merit
attaching itself to them. Yet we must respect those great warriors, for
their unconquerable courage is the offspring of a strong soul, of a
virtue which places them above ordinary mortals.

Whenever I think of Prince Charles de Ligne I cannot restrain my tears.
He was as brave as Achilles, but Achilles was invulnerable. He would be
alive now if he had remembered during the fight that he was mortal. Who
are they that, having known him, have not shed tears in his memory? He
was handsome, kind, polished, learned, a lover of the arts, cheerful,
witty in his conversation, a plea