the army he proceeded to a spring in a concealed spot, from whence a subterranean conduit furnished the reservoirs of the city; and having caused the earth, &c. to be cleared away, he directed the oxen to be killed, and their blood to be permitted to flow into the spring, along with which, in the course of the night, it was carried into the public reservoirs, which the unhappy people were astonished to find, in the morning, filled with blood instead of water, for the communication with the spring had been carefully cut off as soon as all the blood had flowed. The heat of the weather soon filled the reservoirs with loathsome vermin; and the terrified people, believing it a miracle from God, fled on the ensuing night, and left their habitations to the mercy of the enemy.

Dr. King, in the "Anecdotes of his own Times," says:-"In the civil war, my grandfather, Sir William Smyth, was Governor of Hillesdon-House, near Buckingham, where the King had a small garrison. This place was besieged and taken by Cromwell. But the officers capitulated to march out with their arms, baggage, &c. As soon as they were without the gate, one of Cromwell's soldiers snatched off Sir W. Smyth's hat. He immediately complained to Cromwell of the fellow's insolence, and breach of the capitulation. "Sir," says Cromwell, "if you can point out the man, or I can discover him, I promise you he shall not go unpunished. In the meantime (taking off a new beaver, which he had on his head) be pleased to accept this hat instead of your own."

During the war between France and Prussia, in 1806, Courbiere, who commanded at Gradenz, received from the French a summons to surrender, accompanied

with the observation, "that there was no longer any King of Prussia."-" Well," rejoined Courbiere, “if there is no longer a King of Prussia, I am King of Gradenz, and shall not fail to retain that dignity as long as I can." He kept his word.

We have already related an anecdote of Pope playing off the absurdities of Kneller. At another time Pope set Gay to make a butt of his friend, by writing a most preposterous panegyric on his genius and his virtues. When the verses were finished, the author was ashamed, and would have declined the office of reading what he had composed, in the presence of Kneller, fearing that he would resent this play upon his credulity. But the painter heard the whole throughout with the greatest complacency, and instead of perceiving that he was laughed at, he replied:

Aye, aye! Mr. Gay, all that you have said is very true and very fine; but you have forgot one thing, my good friend. If I had been in the army I should have been a very great General; for when I was at Venice, the square of St. Mark was in a smoke of gunpowder on a public rejoicing, and I did like the smell, Mr. Gay! Ah! I should certainly have been a great General, Mr. Gay."

At the battle of Dettingen, the French placed great reliance upon their household troops, who then wore breast-plates. During the charge of these cuirassiers, their point of attack was a Scottish regiment of infantry, commanded by Sir Andrew Agnew, who, judging it impossible to oppose them by force, had recourse to stratagem: ordering his men to fall back from the centre, by right and left, as they advanced, and then to bayonet their horses as soon as they should fairly enter an opening, when they might kill the riders at their leisure.

The French, seeing the line broken, dashed in, but soon found their mistake, when the remainder retired, and were charged as above stated. After the action, the King said, "Sir Andrew, the gens d'armes got in among you to-day!"-"Yes, please your Majesty," said the brave Caledonian; "but they didna get oot again!"

On another occasion the Scotch Greys cut up the gens d'armes. Some time after the peace, at a review, George the Second turned to the French Ambassador, and asked him his opinion of the regiment, adding, that they were the best troops in the world. The Ambassador replied—“ Has your Majesty never seen the gens d'armes?"-" No," rejoined the King; "but my Greys have."

The following anecdote of Waterloo, is told in Paul's Letters to his Kinsfolk: "In another part of the field, the Hanoverian hussars of Cumberland, as they were called, a corps distinguished for their handsome appearance and complete equipments, were ordered to support a charge made by the British. Their gallant commanding officer shewed no alacrity in obeying this order, and indeed observed so much ceremony, that, after having been once and again ordered to advance, an Aide-de-Camp of the Duke of Wellington informed him of his Grace's command, that he should either advance or draw off his men entirely, and not remain there to shew a bad example, and discourage others. The gallant officer of hussars, considering this as a serious option submitted to his own decision, was not long in making his choice; and having expressed to the Aide-de-Camp his sense of the Duke's kindness, and of the consideration which he had for raw troops under a fire of such unexampled severity, said he would embrace the alternative of drawing his

men off, and posting them behind the hamlet of St. John. This he accordingly did, in spite of the reproaches of the Aide-de-camp, who loaded him with every epithet that is most disgraceful to a soldier. The incident, although sufficiently mortifying in itself, and attended, as may be supposed, with no little inconvenience at such a moment, had something in it so comic, that neither the General, nor any of his attendants, were able to resist laughing, when it was communicated by the incensed Aide-de-Camp. I have been told that many of the officers and soldiers of this unlucky regiment left it in shame, joined themselves to other bodies of cavalry, and behaved well in the action. But the valiant commander, not finding himself comfortable in the place of refuge which he had himself chosen, fled to Brussels, and alarmed the town with a report that the French were at his heels. His regiment was afterwards in a manner disbanded, or attached to the service of the Commissariat."

Sir Robert Wilson relates the following anecdote of the late conqueror of almost all Europe, in his account of the affair at Jaffa:-Buonaparte had in person inspected previously the whole body, amounting to near 5000 men, with the object of saving those who belonged to the towns he was preparing to attack. The age and noble physignomy of a veteran Janizary attracted his observation, and he asked him sharply“Old man, what did you do here?" The Janizary, undaunted, replied: "I must answer that question by asking you the same: your answer will be, that you came to serve your Sultan: so did I mine." The intrepid frankness of the reply excited universal interest in his favour. Buonaparte even smiled. "He is saved," whispered some of the Aides-de-Camp.-"You

know not Buonaparte," observed one who had served with him in Italy; "that smile (I speak from experience) does not proceed from benevolence: remember what I say." The opinion was too true. The Janizary was left in the ranks, doomed to death, and suffered!

A brave man rose from the ranks of the forty-second regiment, nearly fifty years ago. The first day he dined at the mess, an acute consciousness of unacquaintance with the minutia of good manners so bewildered his mind, that he hardly seemed to retain his reason; his lips quivered, and he evidently swallowed each morsel with difficulty. As early as possible he left the table, and attempting a retiring bow, in his extreme confusion, turned his back to the company. Several younkers burst into incontroulable laughter, and next day intimated a recollection of the bizarre sortie, by going out in turns, making their obeisance with their faces to the door. Mr. G. bore their derision some time; but his native good sense and bravery discerned a necessity for setting bounds to the insulting mirth. "Gentlemen," said he, "it was by no fault of mine that I was not sooner introduced to polite society; but it will be my fault, indeed, if I fail to call any man to a severe account, if he is so ungenerous as to mock me for awkwardness, which never troubles me when I face an enemy."

A Highlander, born a gentleman, enlisted, and accepted a serjeant's appointment, being reduced by misfortune to make this the last resource for maintaining a wife and family. When quartered in Dublin, the Viceroy of Ireland, Lord Townshend, ordered the serjeants attending on him to have their dinner at the Castle; and all, except our poor gentleman, availed