In fact, his passion has known no bounds since the event; and a fit of jaundice has given his face a kind of neutral tint between green and yellow, like nothing I know of except the facings of the "dirty half-hundred." [2] [Footnote 2: For the information of my unmilitary readers, I may remark that this sobriquet was applied to the 50th Regiment.] As Mr.Free's letter may be as great a curiosity to you as it has been to us, I enclose you a copy of it, which Hopeton obtained for me.

It certainly places the estimable Mike in a strong light as a despatch-writer.

The occasional interruption to the current of the letter, you will perceive, arises from Mike having used the pen of a comrade, writing being, doubtless, an accomplishment forgotten in the haste of preparing Mr.Free for the world; and the amanuensis has, in more than one instance, committed to paper more than was meant by the author:-- Mrs.M'Gra,--Tear an' ages, sure I need not be treating he way.

Now, just say Mrs.Mary--ay, that'll do--Mrs.Mary, it's may be surprised you'll be to be reading a letter from your humble servant, sitting on the top of the Alps,--arrah, may be it's not the Alps; but sure she'll never know,--fornent the whole French army, with Bony himself and all his jinnerals--God be between us and harm--ready to murther every mother's son of us, av they were able, Molly darlin'; but, with the blessing of Providence, and Lord Wellington and Mister Charles, we'll bate them yet, as we bate them afore.
My lips is wathering at the thought o' the plunder.

I often of Tim Riley, that was hanged for sheep-stealing; he'd be worth his weight in gold here.
Mr.Charles is now a captain--devil a less--and myself might be somethin' that same, but ye see I was always of a bashful n and recommended the master in my place.