I have always admired that dispensation of rank in our country, which
sets up this last-named little creature (who was flogged only last week
because he could not spell) to command great whiskered warriors, who
have faced all dangers of climate and battle; which, because he has
money, to lodge at the agent's, will place him over the heads of men
who have a thousand times more experience and desert: and which, in the
course of time, will bring him all the honours of his profession, when
the veteran soldier he commanded has got no other reward for his bravery
than a berth in Chelsea Hospital, and the veteran officer he superseded
has slunk into shabby retirement, and ends his disappointed life on a
threadbare half-pay.
When I read in the GAZETTE such announcements as 'Lieutenant and Captain
Grig, from the Bombardier Guards, to be Captain, vice Grizzle, who
retires,' I know what becomes of the Peninsular Grizzle; I follow him in
spirit to the humble country town, where he takes up his quarters,
and occupies himself with the most desperate attempts to live like a
gentleman, on the stipend of half a tailor's foreman; and I picture to
myself little Grig rising from rank to rank, skipping from one regiment
to another, with an increased grade in each, avoiding disagreeable
foreign service, and ranking as a colonel at thirty;--all because he has
money, and Lord Grigsby is his father, who had the same luck before him.
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