rst question naturally was, "What had involved him
in the ill-luck of the Austrians."

"The soldier's temptation every where," was the answer; "having
nothing to do at home, and expecting something to do abroad. When the
Prussian army once crossed the Rhine, I should have had no better
employment than to mount guard, escort the court dowagers to the
balls, and finish the year and my life together, by dying of _ennui_.
In this critical moment, when I was in doubt whether I should turn
Tartar, or monk of La Trappe, Clairfait sent to offer me the command
of a division. I closed with it at once, went to the king, obtained
his leave, put spurs to my horse, and reached the Austrian camp
before the courier."

I could not help expressing my envy at a profession in which all the
honours of earth lay at the feet of a successful soldier! He smiled,
and pointed to the police-officer, who was then sulkily pacing in
front of the house.

"You see," said he, "the first specimen of my honours. Yet, from the
moment of my arrival within the Austrian lines, I could have
predicted our misfortune. Clairfait was, at least, as long-sighted as
myself; and nothing could exceed his despondency but his indignation.
His noble heart was half broken by the narrowness of his resources
for defending the country, and the boundless folly by which the war
council of Vienna expected to make up for the weakness of their
battalions by the absurdity of their plans. 'I write for regiments,'
the gallant fellow used to say; 'and they send me regulations! I tell
them that we have not troops enough for an advanced guard; and they
send me the plan of a pitched battle! I tell then that the French
have raised their army in front of me to a hundred thousand strong;
and they promise me reinforcements next year.' After all, his chief
perplexity arose from their orders--every despatch regularly
contradicting the one that came before.

"Something in the style," said I, "of Voltaire's caricature of the
Austrian courier in the Turkish war, with three packs strapped on his
shoulders, inscribed, 'Orders'--'Counter-orders'--and 'Disorders.'

"Just a case in point. Voltaire would have been exactly the historian
for our campaign. What an incomparable tale he would have made of it!
Every thing that was done was preposterous. We were actually beaten
before we fought; we were ruined at Vienna before a shot was fired at
Jemappes. The Netherlands were lost, not by powder and ba