They stop
to talk. See how the flaxen-haired young gentleman with the weak
legs-he who has his pocket-handkerchief thrust into the breast of
his coat-glares upon the fainthearted civilians who linger to look
upon his glory; how the next young gentleman elevates his head in
the air, and majestically places his arms a-kimbo, while the third
stands with his legs very wide apart, and clasps his hands behind
him. Well may we inquire-not in familiar jest, but in respectful
earnest-if you call that nothing. Oh! if some encroaching foreign
power-the Emperor of Russia, for instance, or any of those deep
fellows, could only see those military young gentlemen as they move
on together towards the billiard-room over the way, wouldn't he
tremble a little!
And then, at the Theatre at night, when the performances are by
command of Colonel Fitz-Sordust and the officers of the garrison-
what a splendid sight it is! How sternly the defenders of their
country look round the house as if in mute assurance to the
audience, that they may make themselves comfortable regarding any
foreign invasion, for they (the military young gentlemen) are
keeping a sharp look-out, and are ready for anything. And what a
contrast between them, and that stage-box full of grey-headed
officers with tokens of many battles about them, who have nothing
at all in common with the military young gentlemen, and who-but for
an old-fashioned kind of manly dignity in their looks and bearing-
might be common hard-working soldiers for anything they take the
pains to announce to the contrary!
Ah! here is a family just come in who recognise the flaxen-headed
young gentleman; and the flaxen-headed young gentleman recognises
them too, only he doesn't care to show it just now.
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