18 A SCOTCH ADJUTANT. 



" Ogh ! that the light of heaven may shine on his honour's 

 dying hour; but it's he that's tender to the poor !" " Amen, 

 sweet Jasus!" responded a hundred voices. " Silence !" said 

 the Mad Major, as he produced a small book neatly bound in 

 red morocco. " Whisht, your sowls !" cried the big beggar- 

 man. "Are ye listening?" " Sha, sha! yes, yes!" was 

 responded in English and Irish. " Then, by the contents of 

 this blessed book and it's the Bible a rap I won't give one 

 of ye, you infernal vagabonds, if I remained a twelvemonth in 

 Muliingar !" A yell of execrations followed ; but the Major 

 bore the cursing like a philosopher, and kept his promise like 

 a monk. To the surprise of all, the beggars left the way 

 when he walked out, and absconded from, the shop he entered. 

 They crossed themselves devoutly if they encountered him un- 

 expectedly at a corner, adjuring the Lord to 4f stand between 

 them, the Mad Major, and the devil !" 



Apropos to cursing ; the late Sir Charles Asgill told a story 

 of this eccentric personage. During the time the 50th 

 remained in Ireland, the Colonel was mostly absent from ill 

 health, and the command of course devolved upon the Major. 

 By one of the military abuses at that time too common, a 

 little Scotch Doctor, who had somehow been appointed Adju- 

 tant to a Fencible regiment, was transferred from it to the 

 50th. Incompetent from professional inability, he was further 

 afflicted by a constitutional nervousness, that made him badly 

 calculated to come in contact with such a personage as the 

 Mad Major. 



Shortly after the little Scotchman joined, the half yearly 

 inspection took place. Major O'Farrell, in the course of 

 his evolutions, found it requisite to deploy into line, and 

 called to his field-assistant " to take an object." " Have 

 you got one ?" cried the commander, in a voice of thunder. 

 " Yes, Sir," replied the alarmed Adjutant, in a feeble squeak. 

 The word was given, and the right wing kept moving, until 

 the face of the regiment assumed the form of a semicircle. 

 "Hallo ! where or what is your object?" roared the Major. 

 "A c:ow, Sir," replied the unhappy Scotsman. "And 

 where is the crow ?" roared the Commander. " Flown off," 

 was the melancholy response. " May the devil fly away 

 with you, body and bones ! Halt dress ! Stop, Sir 

 Charles do stop. Just allow me two minutes to curse that 

 rascallv Adiutant." To so reasonable a request, Sir Charles, 



