with their kettle-drums going, and are this day at
Gravesend to take ship;'"--or to give one other, more specific example:

"Yesterday [3d July, 1742] General Campbell's Regiment of Scotch Greys
arrived in the Borough of Southwark, on their march to Dover, where they
are to embark for Flanders. They are fine hardy fellows, that want
no seasoning; and make an appearance agreeable to all but the
innkeepers,"--who have such billeting to do, of late. [_Daily Post,_
June 23d (o.s.), 1742.] "Grey Dragoons," or Royal Scots-Greys, is the
title of this fine Regiment; and their Colonel is Lieutenant-General
John Campbell, afterwards Duke of Argyle (fourth Duke), Cousin of the
great second Duke of Argyle that now is. [Douglas, _Scotch Peerage_
(Edinburgh, 1764), p. 44.] Visibly billeting there, in Southwark, with
such intentions:--and, by accident, this Editor knows Twenty of these
fine fellows! Twenty or so, who had gone in one batch as Greys; sons of
good Annandale yeomen, otherwise without a career open: some Two of whom
did get back, and lived to be old men; the rumor of whom, and of their
unheard-of adventures, was still lingering in the air, when this Editor
began existence. Pardon, O reader!--

"But, all through those hot days, it is a universal drumming,
kettle-drumming, coast-ward; preparation of transports at Gravesend, at
the top of one's velocity. 'All the coopers in London are in requisition
for water-casks, so that our very brewers have to pause astonished for
want of tubs.' There is pumping in of water day and night, Sunday not
excepted, then throwing of it out again [owing to new circumstances]:
250 saddle-horses, and 100 sumpter ditto, for his Majesty's own
use,--these need a deal of water, never to speak of Ligonier and the
Greys. 'For the honor of our Country, his Majesty will make a grander
appearance this Campaign than any of his Predecessors ever did; and
as to the magnificence of his equipage,'--besides the 350 quadrupeds,
'there are above 100 rich portmanteaus getting ready with all
expedition.' [_Daily Post,_ September 13th (I.E. 26th).] The Fat Boy
too [Royal Highness Duke of Cumberland, one should say] is to go; a most
brave-hearted, flaxen-florid, plump young creature; hopeful Son of Mars,
could he once get experience, which, alas, he never could, though trying
it for five-and-twenty years to come, under huge expense to this Nation!
There are to be 16,000 troops, perhaps more; '1,000 sandbags' (empty a