[]THE CAMP.

SCENE I. The Road near the CAMP.

COME along, neighbours, come along, we ſhall be too late for the ſuttlers market.

Put on, put on, neighbours. Here Robin, where are you boy.

I'm coming Feather, as ſoon as I can get the colt up, for the plaguy beaſt is down again, and mother and chickens are all in the ſlough.

Why, is the colt down again? You graceleſs dog, help your mother up.—Oh, neigh⯑bour Farrow has helped her up I ſee.

Huſband, as ſure as you are alive, that rogue of a boy drove the colt in the dirt for the purpoſe, and down we came with ſuch a wang.—

What a mercy it is the chickens eſcaped!—Come, put on neighbours.

Why, Feather how could I help it?—The colt has not had an eye in his head theſe eight years.

O, here comes our Kinſwoman, and her Daughter,

Bleſs me child! you are in ſuch a heat you'll quite ſpoil your complexion.

Lord neighbours, you hurry one ſo.—

Put on. put on; make haſte, we ſhall be too late—O dear, here comes Nell, and ſhe'll ſcold us all, for cheating the ſoldiers.

Damn that wench, ſhe won't cheat herſelf, nor let other honeſt people do it, if ſhe can help it: and ſhe ſays ſhe likes a ſoldier ſo well ſhe would ſell them goods for nothing.

Come neighbours, now we ſhall ſee what bargains your Daughter will make at the Camp.

Aye, Aye, ſoldiers are teſty cuſto⯑mers—They won't buy of the ugly ones—O, here Nell comes.

Why how now, what you are conſulting how you ſhall cheat the poor ſoldiers: for ſhame! for ſhame! how can you uſe the poor fellows ſo? a parcel of unfeeling wretches! Poor fellows, that riſque their Lives to defend your property, and yet you make it your ſtudy to defraud them.

It's very hard, Nell; you won't let us have a little picking among em. What is it to you what we do.

Yes it is to me; I never will bear to ſee a ſoldier cheated, with my eyes open. I love a ſol⯑dier, and will always ſtand by them.

Mind your own buſineſs, Nell.

What's that you ſay, Miſs Minx? Here's a wench dreſſed out; the poor ſoldiers are forced to pay for all this finery, you impudent ſlut you.

Why, Nell, if you go on at this rate we'll tell his worſhip, Mr. Gage of you: He's an exciſeman, and a great friend to us poor ſolks.

What's that you ſay, maſter Grinder? [5] Come forward, you ſneaking ſniveling ſot you, I think your tricks are pretty well known. Was n't you caught ſoaking eggs in lime and water to make them paſs for new ones: and did not you ſit in the ſtocks for robbing the 'Squire's rookery to make your pigeon pies.

Well, well, we'll tell Mr. Gage, and then what will he ſay to you?

Tell Mr. Gage, will you, he's a pretty protector indeed he's a diſgrace to his Majeſty's inkhorn—while he ſeizes with one hand, he ſmug⯑gles with the other.—Why, no longer ago than laſt ſummer he was a broken attorney at Rocheſter, and came down here, and bought this place with his vote, and now he is both a ſmuggler and contractor. O my conſcience, if I had the management of affairs, I would ſeverely puniſh all ſuch fellows who would be ſo baſe as to cheat a poor ſoldier.

If his worſhip was here, you dare not ſay ſo. Here he comes, here he comes. Now you'll change your note.

Will I? you ſhall ſee if I do. No, no; I'll tell him my mind; that's always my way.

Ah! Mr. Gage.

Hey dey! what's the matter? What the plague is there a civil war broke out among you?

Why, Mr. Gage, Nell here has been ſcolding us for cheating the ſoldiers,

Yes, and ſays you encourage us in it.

Encourage you? to be ſure I do, in the way of trade.

Aye, in the way of trade.

Yes, and ſhe has been rating the poor girl, and ſays I dreſs her up thus only to make the better bargains.

And e'cod you're in the right of it; your [6] mother is a ſenſible old woman. Well ſaid dame, put plenty in your baſkets, and ſell your wares at the ſign of your daughters face.

Aye, aye, ſo I ſay.

Right—Soldiers are teſty cuſtomers, and this is the market where the prettieſt will always make the beſt bargains.

Very true, very true.

To beſure; I hate to ſee an awkward gawkey come ſneaking into the market, with her damned half-price countenance, and is never able to get ſcarce double the value of her beſt goods.

I can hold no longer: are you not aſhamed you who are a contractor, and has the honour to carry his Majeſty's inkhorn at your button-hole, to teach theſe poor wretches all your court tricks. I'll tell you what. If I was to ſit on a court mar⯑tial againſt ſuch a fellow as you, you ſhould have had your deſerts, from the pilfering ſuttler to the head contractor, you ſhould have the cat o' nine tails, and be forced to run the gauntlet, from Cox⯑heath to Warley common, that you ſhould.

How durſt you talk ſo ſaucily to his worſhip?

Hold your tongue, or I'll throttle you, you ſheep biter.

O lord! your worſhip, if you don't put her under an arreſt ſhe'll choak me.

Come, Nell, hold your tongue, and I'll give you a pound of ſmuggled hyſon, and, throw you a ſilk handkerchief into the bargain.

Here's a rogue! Bear witneſs neighbours he has offered me a bribe;—a pound of tea. No, Sir, take your pitiful preſent, and know that I am not to be bribed to ſcreen your villainies by influ⯑ence and corruption.

Don't mind her, ſhe's mad, ſhe talks trea⯑ſon. Away with you! I'll put every body under an arreſt that ſtays to liſten to her.

Aye, aye, ſhe's mad. Come along, we ſhall be too late for market.

Here Nell, will you take the tea?

No Sir, I wont.

Well then I will.

Fooliſh girl, not to accept a bribe, and follow the example of her betters.—But who have we here?

Ah, my little Gage! to be ſure I am not in luck; I will not want an interpreter to ſhew me the views about here; and by my ſhoul I'll force you to accept my offer.

Why, what's your errand?

Why upon my conſcience a very dan⯑gerous one: Jack the Painter's job was a fool to it. I am come to take the Camp.

The devil you are!

Aye, and muſt bring it away with me in my pocket too.

Indeed!

Aye, here's my military cheſt; theſe are my colours you know.

O, I gueſs your errand.

Then faith it's a very fooliſh one. [8] You muſt know, I got ſo much credit at the Fete Champetre there, that little Roſcius recommended me to the Managers of Drury Lane, and ſo now I am a ſort of deputy ſuperintendant under Mr. Lanturnburg, the great painter; that as ſoon as he executes a thing, I always deſign it after him, my jewel; ſo I'm going to take a ſide front view of it.

What then they are going to introduce the camp on the ſtage I ſuppoſe.

To be ſure you have hit it—Cox⯑heath by candle light, my jewel.

And will that anſwer?

O, to be ſure it will anſwer, when a jontlemen can have a warm ſeat, and ſee the whole tote of it for two thirteens, and be comfortable into the bargain. Why it has coſt me above three guineas already, and I came the cheapeſt way too, for three of us went halves in the Maidſtone Dilly, my dear.

Well, and how do you like the proſpect?

Upon my ſhoul my jewel, I dont know what to make o'nt, ſo I am come to be a little far⯑ther off, that I may have a nearer view of it. I think it looks like my couſin O Doiley's great bleach yard in the County of Antrim.

Tunder and wounds! what outland⯑iſh creature is this coming here?

O, that is Monſieur Boulard, the ſuttler.

Then perhaps he can help me to a bit of ſomething to eat, for I feel a ſort of craving in my ſtomach after my journey.

Why he's a very honeſt fellow, and will be happy in obliging you, Oh, here he comes.

Ah! begar, Monſieur Gage, I am glad I have found you; begar I have been through Berkſhire, Suffolk, and Yorkſhire, and could not find you.

Through Berkſhire, Suffolk, and York⯑ſhire—What the devil does he mean?

O, he means through the regiments.

By gar, mounſieur Gage, I muſt de⯑pend on you for ſupply. I have got one, two, tree brigade dinners beſpoke, beſides the fat alder⯑man and his lady from London.

Then you muſt ſend out a party of cooks to forage at Maidſtone.

Parblue, monſieur Gage, I muſt look to you, for by gar I have got nothing in de houſe to eat.

Then the devil burn me if I come to dine with you honey.

O, Sire, I have got every ting for you and Monſieur Gage. You ſhall have any ting you ike in von moment!

Ah, ha, I tank you honey: But pray now, Mr. Blaud, if your own countrymen were to come over here, would not you be a little puz⯑zled to know which ſide to be on?

Puzzled!—parblue Monſieur, I do aſſure you I love de Engliſh ver well, and vill never leave dem vile dey are victorious; and I do love mine own countrymen very well; but depend on it, Monſieur Gage, I vill always ſtay with do ſtrongeſt.

You ſee, Mr. O Daub, my friend Mon⯑ſieur Boulard is diveſted of all national prejudice, I aſſure you.

Prejudice—by gar I have too much honour ever to leave de Engliſh while dey do vin de battle. But, Monſieur Gage, vill you bring your friend, and taſte my vine; I have got every ting for you and your friend, I aſſure you. M. Gage, I vill never forſake de Engliſh ſo long as dey are victorious; but if mine own countrymen were to come, and make de Engliſh run, I would run a little way with dem; and if mine own country⯑men were likely to overtake dem, I would ſtop ſhort, bow to dem, and ſay, how you do, my ver good countrymen. By gar I ſhall be ver glad to ſee you both, ſo come along—but depend [10] on mine honour, Monſieur Gage, I vill never leave de Engliſh vile dey do vin de battle.—No, never! never!

Well ſaid Monſieur Boulard.

Your ſarvant Mr. Blaud, though faith to do him juſtice, he has forgot the faſhion of his country, for when he is determined to be a rogue he is honeſt enough to own it. But pray what connection have you with the ſuttlers? You are no victualler here are you?

Not abſolutely a victualler, but I deal in various articles.

Indeed.

Yes, but no buſineſs is done here only by contract.

A contractor! Why what the devil you are not riſen to ſuch preferment as that ſure? I never knew you was able to furniſh any con⯑tract.

Nothing more eaſy; the circumſtance depends upon the quantity, not the quality. I got on very well lately, but at firſt it brought me in ſeveral confounded ſcrapes.

As how?

Why, I undertook to ſerve a regiment with hair powder.

Hair powder? What, and you ſent them flower I ſuppoſe.

Flower! no, no—I ſhould have ſaved nothing by that: I went to the fountain head—the pit, and gave 'em a plentiful ſtock of lime.

Lime? brick and mortar lime?

Yes, brick and mortar lime.

And, what the plague, was not the cheat found out?

Why at firſt it anſwered the purpoſe very well, while the weather was fine it did charmingly, but one field-day they was all caught in a fine ſoaking ſhower; the ſmoke ran along the lines, ecod their heads were all ſlack'd in an inſtant, and by the time they returned to the camp, damme if [11] all their heads were not as ſmooth as an old half crown.

A very croſs accident indeed.

Yes, I ſtood a near chanceof being tied up to the halberts; but I excuſed myſelf by ſaying, they looked only like raw recruits before; but now they appeared like old veterans of ſervice.

But you loſt your contract I ſuppoſe.

Yes, but I ſoon got another; a ſhaving Contract to a company of grenadiers.

'Faith I never knew you practiſed that buſineſs.

Never handled a razor in all my life: I ſhave by deputy; hired Sam Sickle down from London—an excellent hand! handles a razor like a ſcythe;—he'll mow you down a regiment of beards in the beating a revally.

Upon my conſcience, a pretty way this of working at ſecondhand. I wiſh myſelf could do a little by proxy.

But come, what ſay you for ſomething to eat, and a glaſs of my friend Boulard's wine, and drink his Majeſty's health?

With all my heart, my dear, and to the two camps if you will.

Two?—what two do you mean?

Why the one at Coxheath, and the other at Drury Lane.

SCENE.—A Grove near the Camp.

I TELL you I will certainly liſt; I ha' made up my mind on't.

Well, well, I'll ſay no more.

Beſides the camp lies ſo convenient, I mayn't have ſuch another opportunity.

Why its main jolly to be ſure and all that [12] ſo fair. Now if I were to liſt, I ſhould like hugely to belong to a regiment of horſe, and here is one of the grandeſt troop com'd lately. I ſee'd two of the officers, mighty delicate looking gentlemen, they were dreſt quite different from the others; their jackets, indeed, are pretty much the ſame, but then they wear a ſort of petticoat as 'twere, with a large hat and feather, and a mortal ſight of hair. I ſuppoſe now they are ſome of your out⯑landiſh troops; your foreign Heſſians or ſuch like,

Aye, like enough. Here comes the ſar⯑jeant. Ecod he can ſing louder than his own drum. Zooks! ſee how brave they march. Well, walk⯑ing is a mighty dull way of going after all.

Come my lads now is your time to ſerve the King, and make men of yourſelves: Well my lad, what do you ſay?

I canno' leave my farm.

Your farm?—what would would you plow and ſow for the hungry Frenchmen to come and reap. Come my lads! let your fields lie fal⯑low this year, and I'll inſure you double crops ever after. Why now here's a fellow made for a ſoldier; there's a leg for a ſpatterdaſh, with an eye like the King of Pruſſia.

Aye, but ſerjeant, I hanna' the air.

The air, O, we'll ſoon learn you that; why now here's little Ralph; there's a fellow for you, he has not been liſted afortnight, and ſee what a preſence—there's dignity! O, there is nothing like the drill for grace.

Serjeant, I'm your man.

And ſo am I.

That's right my lads; this is much better than to be dragg'd away like a ſlave, or be ſcratch'd off the church door for the militia. Now you have preſent pay, and the bounty money into the bargain. But come my lads, let me aſk you a few queſtions, and then the buſineſs is done.

Well ſaid my lads, I am glad to ſee ſo many good hearts in the country—O, but was not you ſaying one of your recruits knows me!

O, yes Nell, a lad from ſuffolk. Hark'ye, where's the Suffolk boy as we call him? O, here he comes.

Ah ſerjeant, did you not begin to think you had loſt me? But come, will you leave me a few minutes with Nelly.

With all my heart. Come, my lads, let's to the heart of oak, where we'll drink his Ma⯑jeſty's health.

Why Nelly, don't you know me?

Know you? Egad I don't know whether I do or not—ſure it can't be—and yet, ſure it is Nancy Granger.

It is her, my dear Nelly, who kiſſes you now with the trueſt ſenſe of gratitude for your former kindneſs and friendſhip.

My dear girl—Odſo! I muſt take care of my reputation.—But what in the name, of fancy brings you here, and in this dreſs child?

How can you aſk me that queſtion, Nelly? You are no ſtranger to the love William and I have for each other; a few days would have united us [15] for ever, had not cruel fate ſeparated us; the regiment being ordered to march immediately, no reſource was then left, but my flying from my father's houſe: I procured a dreſs from one of our neighbours ſons, and that love which induced me to forſake my ſex, ſtill ſupports me under e⯑very affliction. Fortunately, on my way, I met the ſerjeant, and after ſome entreaty was inliſted and equipped as you ſee. What think you Nell? does not my dreſs become me?

Yes, indeed, I think you make a ſmart little ſoldier.

Why indeed I am rather under ſize, but I fancy in action I could do more real execution than thoſe who look bigger, and talk louder. But tell me, my dear Nelly, where is William? I long to ſee him: Does he ever ſpeak of his poor Nancy? ſure he cannot be faithleſs.

Why really, Nancy, I have ſome doubts.

Heavens! is it poſſible?

Ah, my poor little ſoldier, I only did it to try your affection. Your William is true, and wor⯑thy of your love.

You have made a greater ſhock on my ſpirits than even an army of Frenchmen could have done.

But, my dear girl, conſider, do you think you can cheerfully go through the toil and fatigue and not repine after your own happy ſituation you left behind you?

O no, I ſtill muſt love, though I ſhould regret the occaſſion of our difficulties.

Difficulty?—Why then marry him at the drum head and that will end all your difficulties.

Well, my dear Nancy, you muſt endea⯑vour to throw off that dreſs as ſoon as poſſible. I'll tell you what, here are ſome ladies in the camp, who condeſcend, to notice me, I'll endea⯑vour to introduce you to them, and they may be of great ſervice to you: in the mean time, ſhould you by chance meet with William, beſure you dont diſcover yourſelf—Huſh! here is the ſerjeant.

Why Nelly, how's this? You have had a long converſation together; I began to think you had run away with my new recruit.

O, there's no great danger ſerjeant; he's no ſoldier for me; pray is he perfect in his ex⯑erciſe?

O, as handy a lad as ever was: Come, youngſter, convince her.

Very well indeed: But ſerjeant, I muſt beg of you to befriend him as much as you can, for my ſake.

Any ſervice in my power you may com⯑mand, but a ſoldier's life is not the eaſieſt in the world, ſo they ought to befriend each other.

SCENE I. A Grove near the Camp.

WILLIAM! come ſpeak to him another time, ſure nothing could be more lucky; how⯑ever, I muſt obey their ladyſhip's inſtructions, and keep him in ignorance, that they may be preſent at the diſcovery. Poor fellow, its almoſt a pity too, when one has it in ones power to make him ſo happy.

I am ſorry Nell to make you wait, but it was an old friend.

Aye, aye, ſome one from Suffolk I ſuppoſe, who has brought you news of your dear Nancy.

I wiſh it had; it's unaccountable that I don't hear from her.

Unaccountable? not at all: I ſuppoſe ſhe has changed her mind.

No Nelly, that's impoſſible, and you would think ſo, had you heard how ſhe plighted her faith to me, and vowed, notwithſtanding her pa⯑rents were my enemies, nothing but death ſhould prevent our union.

O, I beg your pardon; if her father and mother indeed are againſt you, you need not doubt her conſtancy. But come, dont be melancholy, I tell you I want to have you ſtay ſomewhere near the Inn, and perhaps I may bring you ſome in⯑telligence of her.

How! dear Nell?

Tho' Indeed I think you are very fool⯑iſh to plague yourſelf ſo, for even had Nancy loved you well enough to have carried your knap⯑ſack, you would have been very imprudent to have ſuffered her.

Aye, but prudence, you know, is not a ſoldiers virtue. Its our buſineſs to hold life itſelf cheap, much more the comforts of it. Shew me a young fellow in our regiment who, if he gains the heart of a worthy girl, and afraid to marry her for want of a little wealth, I would have him drummed out of the regiment for diſcretion.

Very fine! but muſt not the poor girl ſhare in all your fatigues and miſhaps.

There Nell I own is the objection, but tenderneſs and affection may ſoften even theſe; yet if my Nancy ever makes the trial, though I may not be able to prevent her from undergoing hardſhips, I am ſure my affection will make her wonder at their being called ſo; I wiſh I could once boaſt that the experiment was made.

SCENE II.— An open View near the Camp.

Well, to be ſure this ſame Camp is a pretty place with their drums, and their fifes and [20] their gigs and their marches, and their Ladies in their regimentals; upon my conſcience I believe they'd form a troop of ſide-ſaddle cavalry if there was any hopes of an invaſion. But now I am alone by myſelf, tis time I ſhould be after taking my plan; and here I ſee are ſome of my directions for it.

I cant think what it is makes my hand ſhake ſo, unleſs it is Mr. Blaud's wine that is got into my head: ſo, ſo! Let me ſtudy my orders a little, for I am not uſed to this buſineſs, O. P. and P. S. Who the devil is to underſtand that? O! here is the explanation: P. S. the prompter's ſide, and O. P. oppoſite the prompter. So I'm to mark down the view as it is to be taken on one ſide, and the other. Very well: P. S. and O. P. Let me ſee Somewhere hereabout is certainly the beſt point to take it from.

There you rogues, there he is!

Aye aye, that's him ſure enough, I have ſeen him ſkulking about theſe two days, if he ben't a ſpy I'll ſuffer hanging.

He certainly muſt be a ſpy by his drawing figures.

Do ſeize on him or the whole camp may be blown up before we are aware!

Prompter's ſide.

Huſh! we ſhall convict him out of his own mouth.

O yes, the ſtar and garter muſt certainly be P. S.

P. S. What the devil does he say?

Treaſon you may be ſure, by your not underſtanding him.

And then O. P. will have the advan⯑tage.

O. P. That's the old Pretender. A damn'd Jacobite ſpy, my life on't.

And P. S. is Prince Charles, I ſuppoſe.

No, you fool; P. S. is the Pretender's Son.

Aye, aye, like enough

Memorandum—the officers tents are in the rear of the line.

Mark that.

N B. the Generals tents are all houſes.

Remember that.

Then the park of Artillery; I ſhall never make any thing of that. Oh! the devil burn the park of artillery!

There's a villain! He'll burn the park of artillery will he?

Well faith this camp is eaſier taken than I thought it was.

Is it ſo, you rogue? but you ſhall find the difference on't. O, what a providential diſcovery!

To beſure the people will like it much, and in the courſe of the winter it may ſurpriſe his majeſty.

O, the villain! ſeize him directly—Fellow, you are a dead man if you ſtir!—We ſeize you Sir as a ſpy.

A ſpy—phoo, phoo; get about your buſineſs.

Bind him, and blinfold him if he reſiſts.

Aye, blindfold him for certain, and ſearch him too; I dare ſay his pockets are crouded with powder, matches, and tinder-boxes at every corner.

Tunder and owns! what do you mean?

Hold him faſt

Why here's ſome ladies coming, who know me. Here's Lady Sarah Saſh, and Lady Plume, who were at the Fete-Champetre, and will give me a good character.

Why, villain, your papers have proved you a ſpy, and ſent by the old Pretender.

O Lord! O Lord! I never ſaw the old gentleman in all my life.

Why, you dog, did'n't you ſay the camp [22] was eaſier taken than you thought it was.

Aye, deny that.

And that you would burn the artillery and ſurpriſe his majeſty—ſo come, you had better confeſs before you are hanged.

Hanged for a ſpy? O, to beſure my⯑ſelf is got into a pretty ſcrape.

Bring him away; but blindfold him, the dog ſhall ſee no more.

I'll tell you what, Mr. ſoldier, or Mr. Sarjeant, or what the devil's your name, upon my conſcience and ſoul I'm nothing at all but an Iriſh painter employed by Monſieur Lanternburg,

There, he has confeſſed himſelf a foreigner, and employed by Marſhal Leatherbag.

Oh, he'll be convicted by his tongue. You may ſwear he is a foreigner by his lingo.

Bring him away. I long to ſee him hanging.

Tunder and wounds! If I am hanged what will become of the theatre and the mana⯑gers; and the devil fly away with you all together for a parcel of red black-guards!

SCENE— Part of the Camp.

O! my dear lady Saſh, indeed you are too ſevere; and I'm ſure if Lady Gorget had been here ſhe would have been of my opinion.

Not in the leaſt.

You muſt know, ſhe has been rally⯑ing my poor brother, Sir Harry Bouquet, for not being in the militia, and ſo ill-naturedly.

So he ſhould indeed; but all I ſaid was, he looked ſo french and ſo finical, that I thought he ran a riſque of being miſtaken for another female chevalier.

Yet, you muſt confeſs, that our ſitu⯑ation is open to a little raillery: A few elegan⯑cies of accomodation are conſiderably wanting, though one's toilet, as Sir Harry ſays, is not abſo⯑lutely ſpread on a drum-head.

He vows there is an eternal confuſion between ſtores military, and millinery; ſuch a deſcription he gives—On one ſhelf, cartriges and and coſmetics, pouches and patches; here a ſtand of arms, there a file of black pins; in one drawer bullet-moulds and eſſence-bottles, piſtols and twee⯑zer caſes, with battle-powder mixed with mare⯑chelle.

O, the malicious creature!

But pray, Lady Saſh, don't renew it, for ſee here comes Sir Harry to join us.

Now, Lady Saſh, I beg a truce; Lady Gorget I am rejoiced to ſee you at this de⯑lectable ſpot, where Lady Plume, you may be amuſed with ſuch a diſmal variety.

You ſee, Lady Plume, he perſeveres.

I aſſure you, Sir Harry, I ſhould have been againſt you in your raillery.

Now as Gad's my judge, I admire the place; here's all the pride, pomp, and circum⯑ſtance of glorious war! Mars in a vis-a-vis, and Bellona giving a Fete-Champetre.

But now, ſeriouſly brother, what can make you judge ſo indifferently of the camp from any body elſe?

Why ſeriouſly then, I think it the worſt planned thing I ever beheld, for inſtance now, the tents are all ranged in a ſtrait line, now Lady Gorget, can any thing be worſe than a ſtrait line; and is not there a horrid uniformity in their infinite viſta of canvas? no curve, no break, and the avenue of marquees abominable.

O, to be ſure a circus or a creſcent would have been vaſtly better.

What a pity Sir Harry was not conſulted.

As Gad's my judge I think ſo; for there is great capability in the ground.

A camp cognoſcenti poſſitively, Sir Harry, we will have you publiſh a treatiſe on military virtue.

Very well, but how will you excuſe this; the officer's tents are cloſe to the common ſoldiers; what an arrangment is that now? If I might have adviſed, there certainly ſhould have been one part for the canaille, and the weſt end of the camp for the nobleſſe and perſons of a certain rank.

Very right. I dare ſay you would have thought of proper marquees for hazard and quinze.

To be ſure, with feſtino tents, and opera pavilions.

Gad, the only plan that could make it ſupportable for a week; Well, certainly the great⯑eſt defect in a general is want of taſte.

Undoubtedly, and conduct, diſcipline, and want of humanity, are no atonements for it.

None in nature.

But, Sir Harry, it is rather unlucky that the military ſpirit is ſo univerſal, for you will hardly find one to ſide with you.

Univerſal indeed; and the ridicule of it is to ſee how this madneſs had infected the whole road from Maidſtone to London; the camp jargon is as current all the way as bad ſilver; the very poſtillions that drive you talk of their cavalry, and refuſe to charge on a trot up the hill, the turnpikes ſeem converted into redoubts, and the dogs demanded the counterſign of my ſervants, inſteed of the tickets; then when I got to Maid⯑ſtone I found the very waiters had got a ſmattering of tactics, for enquiring what I could have for dinner, a curſed drilled waiter, after reviewing his bill of fare, with the air of a field marſhal, [25] propoſed an advanced party of ſoup and bouille to be followed by the main body of ham and chic⯑kens, flanked by a fricaſee, with ſallads in the in⯑tervals and corps de reſerve of ſweetmeats, and whipt ſyllabubs to form a hollow ſquare in the centre:

Ha! ha! ha! Sir Harry, I am very ſorry you have ſo ſtrong a diſlike to every thing militaty; for unleſs you would contribute to the fortune of our little recruit—

O madam, moſt willingly; and very apropos here comes your ladyſhip's protagec, and has brought I ſee the little recruit, as you deſired.

Here Nancy make your curtſey, or your bow to the ladies, who have ſo kindly promiſed you protection.

Simple gratitude is the only return I can make, but I am ſure the ladies who have hearts to do ſo good natured a deed, will excuſe my not be⯑ing able to anſwer them as I ought.

She means, an' pleaſe your ladyſhips, that ſhe will always acknowledge your ladyſhips good⯑neſs to the laſt hour of her life, and, as in duty bound, will ever pray for your ladyſhips happineſs and proſperity. That's what you mean, you know.

Very well: But, Nancy, are you ſatisfied that your ſoldier ſhall continue in his duty.

O yes, your ladyſhip, she's quite ſatisfied.

Well child, we're all your friends, and be aſſured your William ſhall be no ſufferer by his conſtancy.

There Nancy, ſay ſomething.

But are you ſure you will be able to bear the hardſhips of your ſituation.

You have ſeen him then?

O, yes, your ladyſhip.

Go and bring him here.

Sir Harry we have a little plot, which you muſt aſſiſt us in.

O, madam, moſt willingly.

Now Nancy, you muſt be ruled by us.

As I live there's my dear William!

Turn from him—you muſt.

O, I ſhall diſcover myſelf—I tremble ſo unlike a ſoldier.

Why I tell you, William, the ladies want to aſk you ſome queſtions.

Honeſt corporal, here's a little recruit, ſon to a tenant of mine, and, as I am told, you are an intelligent young fellow, I mean to put him under your care.

What that boy, your honour? Lord bleſs you ſir, I ſhall never be able to make any thing of him.

I am ſorry for that,

Nay corporal, he's very young,

He is under-ſize, my lady, ſuch a ſtripling is fitter for a drummer than a rank and file.

But he's ſtraight and well made.

I wiſh I was ordered to right about.

Well I'll do all in my power to oblige your ladyſhip. Come youngſter, turn about—ah, Nelly!—tell me, is't not ſhe?

Why don't you march him off?

Is he underſize corporal? O, you block-head!

O ladies pray excuſe me!—My dear William!

They'll never be able to come to an expla⯑nation before your ladyſhips—Go, go and talk by yourſelves.

Pleaſe your ladyſhips, we have taken a ſort of a ſpy this morning, who has the aſſurance to deny it, tho' he confeſſes himſelf an Iriſh painter. I have undertaken however to bring this letter from him to lady Sarah Saſh.

What appears againſt him?

A great many ſuſpicious circumſtances, pleaſe your honour; he has an O before his name, and we took him with a draught of the camp in his hand.

Ha, ha ha! this is ridiculous enough, 'tis O Daub, the Iriſh painter, who diverted us ſometime ago at the Fete-Champetre. Honeſt ſer⯑jeant we'll ſee your priſoner, and I fancy you may releaſe him.

Pray ſerjeant what's to be done this evening?

The line, your honour, turns out, and as there are pleaſure tents pitched, perhaps the ladies [26] [...] [27] [...] [28] will condeſcend to hear a march and chorus, which ſome recruits are practiſing againſt his majeſty comes to the camp.

Come Sir Harry, you'll grow fond of a camp life yet.

Your ladyſhips will grow tired of it firſt I'll anſwer for it.

No, no.

Yes, on the firſt bad weather you'll give orders to ſtrike your tents and toilets, and ſecure a retreat at Tunbridge.