nion, then, that as a point of military discipline, as well as of
aesthetical correctness, all English regiments--properly so
called--should adhere to their red uniforms, varied with subsidiary
ornaments, or other distinctions, to mark separate regiments and corps.
Those from Scotland should all wear the plaids, so as to let them
predominate in their habiliments--of course, we would send those stupid
plumed caps to the right-about, and adopt the Scotch bonnet; but the
plaid of each clan should find its place in the British army; and those
noble distinctions of old feudal manners should never be done away with.
The Irish regiments ought also to have their distinguishing colours; and
as green seems to be the poetical tint of the Emerald Isle, there is no
sound objection to the adoption of that hue for the base of the Irish
uniform. Irish soldiers will fight like devils in any uniform, or in no
uniform at all, as has been seen on many a gory field; but if the use of
green can awaken one thought of national glory--one kindly recollection
of "dear Erin" in their hearts--then let the gallant spirits from the
western isle lead their headlong charges in the tint that haunts their
imagination. Do we want them to have some red about their coats?--they
are always willing to dye them with their best blood. And even the
Taffies--the quiet, sedate Taffies--for "she is good soldier, Got tam,
when her blood is up"--why should not they have some national uniform,
to remind them of the blue tints of their native mountains and deep
vales? Children of the mist and the wild heath, the natural rock, and
the lonely lake--the glare of our Saxon red is too brilliant for them;
let them wrap their sinewy limbs and fiery hearts in pale blue, and
grey, and white--and so let them enter the bloody lists, where they will
hold their ground by the side of the three other nations, and bear away
their share of military glory.

A few words on the navy, and we have done--and only a few words; for we
have nothing to say, but to give unqualified praise. In the habiliments
of our jolly tras--God bless 'em!--utility is every thing, ornament
nothing. They are clad just as they should be; and yet, on gala days,
they know how to make themselves as coquettish as any girl on Portsmouth
Downs. There is no greater dandy in the world, in his peculiar way, than
your regular man-of-war's man. The short jacket, and the loose trousers,
and the neat pumps, and the trim littl