WETTSTEIN. 69 



(sometimes to overflowing), and give him many- 

 heavy trials, — they are his own men ; their use- 

 fulness is almost of his own creation, and their 

 renown is his highest glory. 



I may not depict the feelings of others ; but 

 I find in the recollection of my own service — as 

 succeeding years dull its details and cast the 

 nimbus of distance about it — the source of emo- 

 tions which differ widely from those to which our 

 modern life has schooled us. 



One of the colonel's constant attendants is the 

 chief bugler, or, as he is called in hussar Dutch, 

 the " Stabstrompaytr " ; mine was the prince of 

 Trompaytrs, and his name was Wettstein. He 

 was a Swiss, whose native language was a mixture 

 of guttural French and mincing German. Eng- 

 lish was an impossible field to him. He had 

 learned to say " yes " and " matches " ; but not 

 one other of our words could he ever lay his 

 tongue to, except the universal "damn." But 

 for his bugle and his little gray mare, I should 

 never have had occasion to know his worth. Mu- 

 sic filled every pore of his Alpine soul, and his 



