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 sooner be a Michael
Angelo than a general officer. But you are always talking of him; what
do you think of doing with the other child?'

'What, indeed!' said my father; 'that is a consideration which gives me
no little uneasiness. I am afraid it will be much more difficult to
settle him in life than his brother. What is he fitted for, even were it
in my power to provide for him? God help the child! I bear him no ill
will, on the contrary, all love and affection; but I cannot shut my eyes;
there is something so strange about him! How he behaved in Ireland! I
sent him to school to learn Greek, and he picked up Irish!'

'And Greek as well,' said my mother. 'I heard him say the other day that
he could read St. John in the original tongue.'

'You will find excuses for him, I know,' said my father. 'You tell me I
am always talking of my first-born; I might retort by saying you are
always thinking of the other: but