the step into his present corps from a cavalry regiment
at home. Not that we mean, however, to assert he was not
a feather-bed soldier in its more literal sense: no man
that ever glittered in gold and scarlet was fonder of a
feather-bed than the young baronet; and, in fact, his
own observations, recorded in the early part of this
volume, sufficiently prove his predilection for an
indulgence which, we take it, in no way impugned his
character as a soldier. Sir Everard would have fought
twenty battles in the course of the month, if necessary,
and yet not complained of the fatigue or severity of his
service, provided only he had been suffered to press his
downy couch to what is termed a decent hour in the day.
But he had an innate and, perhaps, it may be, an instinctive
horror of drills and early rising; a pastime in which
the martinets and disciplinarians of the last century
were very much given to indulge. He frequently upheld an
opinion that must have been little less than treason in
the eyes of a commander so strict as Colonel de Haldimar,
that an officer who rose at eight, with all his faculties
refreshed and invigorated, might evince as much of the
true bearing of the soldier in the field, as he who,
having quitted his couch at dawn, naturally felt the
necessity of repose at a moment when activity and exertion
were most required.

We need scarcely state, Sir Everard's theories on this
important subject were seldom reduced to practice; for,
even long before the Indians had broken out into open
acts of hostility, when such precautions were rendered