He drinks and smokes as much as any two of the biggest officers in his regiment.

With such high talents, who can say how far he may not go?
He may take to politics as a DELASSEMENT, and be Prime Minister after Lord George Bentinck.
My young friend Wellesley Ponto is a gaunt and bony youth, with a pale face profusely blotched.

From his continually pulling something on his chin, I am led to fancy that he believes he has what is called an Imperial growing there.

That is not the only tuft that is hunted in the family, by the way.

He can't, of course, indulge in those expensive amusements which render his aristocratic comrade so respected: he bets pretty freely when he is in cash, and rides when somebody mounts him (for he can't afford more than his regulation chargers).