his cronies."

So round went Gilian, and there he came upon the pensioners, with
Captain John Campbell, late Paymaster of his Majesty's 46th Foot, at
their head.

The pensioners, the officers, ah! when I look up the silent street of
the town nowadays and see the old houses empty but for weavers, and
merchants, and mechanics, people of useful purposes but little manly
interest, and know that all we have of martial glory is a dust under a
score of tombstones in the yard, I find it ill to believe that ever wars
were bringing trade for youth and valour to our midst. The warriors are
gone; they do not fight their battles over any more at a meridian dram,
or late sitting about the bowl where the Trinidad lemon floated in
slices on the philtre of joy. They are up bye yonder in the shadow of
the rock with the sea grumbling constantly beside them, and their names
and offices, and the dignities of their battles, and the long number of
their years, are carved deeply, but not deeply enough, for what is there
of their fame and valour to the fore when the threshing rain and the
crumbling frost have worn the legend off the freestone slab? We are left
stranded high and dry upon times of peace, but the old war-dogs, old
heroes, old gentles of the stock and cane--they had seen the glories
of life, and felt the zest of it. Bustling times! the drums beat at the
Cross in those days, the trumpeters playing alluringly up the lanes to
young hearts to come away; pipers squeezed out upon their instruments
the fine tunes that in the time I speak of no lad of Gaelic blood could
hear but he must down with the flail or sheep-hook and on with the
philabeg and up with the sword. Gentlemen were for ever going to wars
or coming from them; were they not of the clan, was not the Duke their
cousin, as the way of putting it was, and by his gracious offices many
a pock-pudding English corps got a colonel with a touch of the Gaelic
in his word of command as well as in his temper. They went away
ensigns--some of them indeed went to the very tail of the rank and file
with Mistress Musket the brown besom--and they came back Majors-General,
with wounds and pensions. "Is not this a proud day for the town with
three Generals standing at the Cross?" said the Paymaster once, looking
with pride at his brother and Turner of Maam and Campbell of Strachur
standing together leaning on their rattans at a market. It was in the
Indies I think that this same brother the Gen