THE HUSSAR. BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE SUBALTERN." G.R. Gleig "In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility; But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger." SHAKSPEARE. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON: HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER, 1837. ADVERTISEMENT. THE following pages contain a simple and unadorned relation of the principal occurrences in the life of the individual whose memoirs they profess to be. The subject of them-one of the most respectable of the many respectable inmates of Chelsea Hospital-is still alive to vouch for the accuracy of the statement, being in every respect competent to satisfy the most distrusting that no liberties whatever have been taken with historical truth in the management of his story. I do not know how far I may be expected to account for the publication of the narrative at all; but the circumstances which led to it, as they involve no mystery, so they are certainly not worth concealing. My acquaintance with the habits of the brave men with whom I am now professionally associated, soon made me aware that, in Serjeant Landsheit, Chelsea Hospital could boast of an A 2 (RECAP) .9 3754 V.I 759518 inmate possessed of more than ordinary intelligence. I accordingly begged of him to relate to me some of his personal adventures while actively employed in the army, with the design of adding his story to other "Traditions" of the place. I found, however, as we went on, that the narrative grew, not only in bulk, but in interest; so I determined to send it forth as a separate work. I am willing to believe that the public will not blame me for this proceeding; because, numerous as such narratives have now become, I, at least, do not know where one is to be found containing a greater variety of curious and interesting matter. It will be seen that I have confined myself in writing to the use of the first person. This, indeed. I was in some sort compelled to do;-for our practice was, that my friend Landsheit came to me every morning, and told his tale till one or two o'clock in the day; after which I wrotebeing sometimes unable to keep pace with him, even though I repeatedly encroached far upon the short hours of the night. And, to ensure the correctness of the story, he has listened to each proof sheet as it went through the press. THE HUSSAR, therefore, is no work of fiction,-but just as much the Memoirs of Norbert Landsheit, as Captain Carlton's delightful volume is a memoir of himself. If it be asked, why was this man left in the condition of a non-commissioned officer?-why was he never promoted? I answer, that I, too, put the question to himself; and the reader will judge of the character of the man by the sort of answer which he made to me. "I will reply to you, Sir," said he, in his slightly-broken English, "by reminding you of a passage in the Life of Frederic the Great. There was a poor Curate, somewhere near Potsdam, who, after many years' faithful service in the diocese, applied to the Bishop for a living. The Bishop assured him that he was alive to his merits, and that he might depend upon being one day or another provided for. Encouraged by this assurance, the Curate kept quiet, till he ascertained that a certain living was vacant; upon which he repaired again to the Bishop, and entreated that he might be inducted to it. 666 "Ah!' replied the Bishop, so you knew that living was vacant, did you? Well, I am very sorry. I cannot give you that, for I have promised it to one of my nephews; but you shall have the next that falls.' "The Curate returned home scarcely disappointed, for he thought that the Bishop's reason was a fair one; and he counted surely on succeeding to the very next benefice that should |