took great umbrage if even the authorities at
the Horse Guards interfered much with his
command. Being a married man we saw
little of him, except on parade or at stables;
but, as he gave us all as much leave as we
liked, and never bored us with much drill, he
was very popular with his officers, and had
the reputation throughout the cavalry branch
of the service of being a capital good fellow.
The fact was, that although very fond of his
profession, and very fond of his regiment, the
colonel was too sensible a man to attempt
impossibilities. Like many other men in his
position, he saw that his officers were not
soldiers, and that nothing could ever make
them soldiers while the present regimental
system lasted. The duty of the corps was
altogether carried on by the colonel himself,
his adjutant—a smart middle-aged man—who,
like most other cavalry-adjutants, had risen
from the ranks and was thoroughly conversant
with every thing connected with a
dragoon regiment, from the shoeing of a
horse to manoeuvring in the field—and by
the six troop sergeant-majors. The
Captains knew little respecting either the men
or horses of their troops, and the subalterns
less. If the colonel or adjutant wanted
any information from the captain about those
under his command, he was always obliged
to ask the troop sergeant-major as the
readier means of getting a correct answer.
Captains by purchase hardly ever know
much about their own men. So absolutely
were professional subjects tabooed amongst
my comrades, that it is only after frequenting
our mess-table for years, the scorn and
contempt with which any topic relating to
"shop" is put down, can be believed. At
every regimental mess at which I dined (and
there are few, amongst cavalry corps, whose
hospitality I have not partaken of), the same
peculiarity is visible. Horses, dogs, hunting,
shooting, racing; the ballet, the peerage;
whom this duke married and whom this
dowager; Tattersall's; and the sporting
magazine, formed the staple of talk and
knowledge; but of military tactics, military history,
the art of campaigning, of training men and
horses for their work, they know nothing, and
will not learn, or speak about, or suffer their
brother officers to learn. Why this should be
the case I know not, but I would as soon think
of asking the Archbishop of Canterbury's
opinion of the winner of the Derby, or the
Lord Chancellor for a criticism on the cut of
my trousers, as I would dream of leading
the conversation at a mess-table into any
military subject. Indeed, one of the first
things a lad learns from his companions upon
joining a corps, is to designate every kind of
duty a bore. To be orderly officer once a
week, or once in ten days, is a bore; to have
to attend stables, and see—or be supposed to
see—the troop-horses groomed for an hour
every day, is a bore; to have a couple or
three field-days in ten weeks, is a bore; to
be detached as member of a court-martial is
an awful bore; and to have to wear uniform
in the streets—as is the regulation at Dublin
and a few other large towns—is an insufferable
bore. Having been denied leave of absence to
town during the season; to Doncaster when
the St. Leger is about to be run, or to
Newmarket for the Cæsarewitch; to Scotland in
August, or to Leamington in October; are
such superlative bores, that many a patriotic
officer has sold out in consequence. Not that
such warriors are in the habit of allowing
professional sources of annoyance to bore
them for any length of time. In this respect
they are consistent. They enter the service
for their own pleasure and convenience, and
leave it for the same reason. I have known
even captains of Dragoons cut the concern, as
they curtly term it, at a moment's notice;
and as for subalterns—to repeat an expression
I once heard used by an old Sergeant-Major
—"one never knows what cornets or
lieutenants may belong to the regiment for any
given ten minutes." Nor are these sudden
whims exclusively the acts of very young
officers. I remember a captain in a cavalry
corps who had lately returned from India being
refused by his colonel three days' leave to go to
London. Five minutes after the refusal, he
was in the room of the senior-lieutenant for
purchase, asking him what he would give
him if he sold out. "If you send in your
papers this afternoon, I'll give you so much"
(naming a very large sum), was the reply.
The papers were sent in, a cheque was given
for the amount agreed upon, and in twenty-
four hours the captain was a free man
and the lieutenant a captain. In the course
of my service, I certainly remember a score,
if not more, of officers who retired from
the army upon the pique of the moment.
Some sold out because their regiment was
ordered to Ireland, or to some quarter which
they did not like; others for being
reprimanded for neglect of duty. In fact, officers
consider their commissions to be their own
private property—which is certainly the case
according to the present system—and that
they have a right to sell them, as they were
purchased for their own private convenience.

After being about two years in the regiment,
I became senior cornet for purchase,
and very soon after had an opportunity of
obtaining my promotion to lieutenant. What
was my fitness for this step? Money;
nothing else. Senior to me was an officer who
had risen from the ranks, and had seen much
active service with the corps when it was in
India. This gentleman had been nearly
twenty years a soldier; having passed through
all the grades of the service, from private
soldier to that of cornet and adjutant of his
regiment. But, as he had not the money to
purchase his lieutenancy, I, who had only
been two years in the army, leapt over his
head. Including what my father had paid
for my first commission, my rank had now