his temerity. When it was over, the whole division were again put in motion; and the men could then comfort themselves with the assurance that if they dared to say anything about hunger they would get as much, and perhaps more. It may be no matter of wonder, then, that men in this state of desperation plunged into intoxication, when they could by any means, fair or foul, procure liquor.

Were I writing merely to elevate the character of those who commanded, I would say that the misconduct of the men was such that severe punishments were indispensable.

And were I writing merely that I might declaim against tyranny, and draw pictures of what the soldiers suffered from the severity of martial law, I would say that greater outrages on humanity were never perpetrated than on the soldiers serving under Sir John Moore.

For the officers, I would say, that to prevent their men from falling into the hands of the enemy, they were obliged to enforce the severest orders to keep any from lingering behind; and that, as thieving once begun soon spread into universal plunder; and, as soldiers intoxicated, not only destroyed themselves by falling into the hands of the enemy, but destroyed the army, by reducing its numbers, and disheartening those who remained to do their duty, the officers in command could not do otherwise than they did.

For the men, I would say, that they sunk on the wayside exhausted by fatigue and hunger; that they chose to perish in the open air, on the snow wreath, in the wet ditch, beneath the enemy's horse-hoofs, or by their own suicidal hands, rather

than drag their out-worn frost-bitten limbs after them, rather than seek to prolong a life that grew more miserable and more hopeless every step they took; but, that they were not even allowed their wretched choice without incurring the lash of martial law.

I had occasion to return to the rear of the army one day, in consequence of my master being appointed to the charge of the stores which the general was endeavouring to save. The scene on the line of march was awful. In every part of the way, for more than twenty miles, soldiers, soldiers' wives, and their children, were lying in despair dying on the road, and in the adjoining houses and fields. I met many who came straggling along, still anxious to keep before the pursuing foe; and among these an individual who has been spoken of in the story of Simple John as the philosopher. The philosopher was in that state of physical debility that he had begun to weigh within himself, whether it would not be better to wait on the French coming up, and take the chances of their mercy rather than maintain a struggle which was now desperate.

"I'm glad I 've seen you, Wolfe (for that was his name), will you have a drop of brandy and a biscuit to help you on?" said I, when I met him.

"O yes, man, that 'll be glorious, I 'll live yet! And when he had swallowed the brandy which I gave him, and smacked his lips, he repeated, " I ’ll live yet!"

'No fear of you," I replied, "keep by me. I'm to halt at this village until my master comes up; perhaps I'll get you transferred to the baggage guard, if so you shall not want a mouthful when I can give you one."

"Thank ye!" he returned with much gladness, "I'm all life already, all that can live of me; all that can come alive of me is now living and well; but, oh! Swanston, there is something about me that is dead-dead since I saw you-dead for everfrozen-frozen!"

"What is that?" I inquired.

your feet frost-bitten?

"Have you got

"No!" he replied, "not my feet, but my heart!" 'Your heart frost-bitten!" said I. "You must be speaking in parables."

It is not frost-bitten, Swanston, but deathbitten; my heart is bitten by the cankering griefworm of a sorrow that has no balm."

Nonsense!" said I, "every sorrow has a balm, at least, every soldier's sorrow. See how soon I found a balm for your first sorrow-your fatigue and exhaustion. Sit down and we shall have a small drop more to drive away your sorrow."

Eat the philosopher would not sit down.

66

And yet you complain of exhaustion," I observed, "why won't you sit down?"

He hesitated to tell me; but at last gave a very good reason he had the provost's cat-o'-nine tails laid pretty smartly into him the previous day, and he could not bend his body now without suffering the most acute pain.

"" And this is the canker-worm that wrankles in your heart? Never cast down your mind about that, my boy, you'll soon get over it," said I, willing to ease his feelings of shame on this uneasy subject.

"It's not the flogging," he replied, "that is something; but nothing in the scale, if weighed against my grief; you knew Sally Day?"

Sally Day was,

he paused.

"What?" I inquired.

"She is dead," was his answer.

"But what, or who was she?" I continued.

She

Sally Day was a little girl when I was a little boy," so he began his brief narrative: lived in Isleworth when I lived in Twickenham. She was a sweet thing, at least to me, and she grew up as I grew. I thought a good deal about her, more than I should have done, for Sally was not my sweetheart; she married a miller. I cannot say that this circumstance had no effect on my subsequent course of life; perhaps if you knew the truth, you would see the cause of my enlisting. But I need not rake up all my frailties to you, Swanston; I did not get her, and I did vex myself. For a time I gave way to extravagance; during which I found my way into the army. What was my astonishment to find the miller and Sally Day in the regiment before me? Swanston, she never knew, and no mortal man knew, that I loved her. They called me philosopher, because I was always cheerful, and had a remark for every subject of conversation; but there is no philosophy in me, Swanston it was the light of that woman on my mind that made me cheerful, and—may I say happy? yes, happy."

You must be a philosopher," said I, "if you loved a woman, and was happy at seeing her another man's wife."

“I was happy," he continued, "in spite of her being married, not that she was married, for I saw her every day, and she made everyone pleasant that was around her."

"And when and where did she die?" I inquired. "She died yesterday; she became the mother of a child the week before last; her husband was killed, or taken prisoner, two days ago; she did not know, but she lingered in the rear to look for him, and she was, like us all, overtaken by night and the snow-storm.'

"And is the child dead also?" I further asked. "Both lie dead where the mother sought shelter, and where I found them," he answered, alongside the carcase of a dead horse; the place is near the village; you'll see them if you go back."

We journeyed some distance from the main road, and found them as he described. I had some money; and could we have seen any of the inhabitants, I would have paid them to bury the mother and infant, but we saw no one save the straggling soldiers. However, as some of these gave me information of the direction in which my master with his stores was supposed to be coming, I did not despair of getting the bodies buried; for numerous implements were retained in the rear for the destruction of bridges, roads, and such like, and I intended to get some of these and do it myself when they came up.

I had barely formed this intention, when a party came riding across a kind of meadow to us from the main road. By this party I was questioned relative to where I got the mule on which I was riding, where I had exchanged my uniform for the plain clothes I wore, and what we were doing off the direct line of road; but before I could answer any of the questions, the deputy-provost-marshal's deputy's deputy ordered me to strip, to let him flog

me.