of Burgundy. You cannot afford to drink such wine."

This matter of wine, which in those days was considered a necessity even for a young gentleman of barely seventeen, eventually led Sam Rice to complain to his father about the scanty allowance which he made him. Twenty guineas a-year for extras, including clothes, was, he said, a ridiculously small sum upon which to attempt to "live as other gentlemen do"; and he summed up his necessary annual expenses as follows: "Wine (weak stuff), half a bottle a-day, and occasionally giving to friends, eight guineas; washing, hairdressing, and hair powder, six guineas." His appeal, however, had little effect, and on his father's refusal to increase his allowance, the young student cut down his wine bill in order to have more money to spend on shooting.

That he benefited by his sojourn abroad is evident from the letters which he wrote in French to his father from time to time; and his knowledge of the language proved of the greatest value to him in after life. Living as he did at St Omer, in an atmosphere of military preparedness for war, he acquired at an early age habits of careful observation; he learned also to form his own opinions and to use his own judgment, and he became imbued with the true military spirit. His remarks on the situation as he found it at St Omer in 1792 are of interest—

Again, a little later, he wrote—

The wearing of moustaches by the French cavalry was a new idea, and the infantry soon adopted the same method of producing a "savage appearance." The British soldier of the period, on the other hand, prided himself on his clean-shaved face, with, at the most, a suspicion of side whisker, cut square with the line of the mouth. "Shaved clean, and with the hair neatly tied and powdered," was the regulation. Moustaches were not worn in the British army until many years after Waterloo, and the order to wear them was received with suspicion and dislike, being regarded as an attempt to Frenchify the British army. It is recorded of one famous cavalry regiment that the officers paid no attention to the order until the inspecting general made strong comments on their shaved upper lips, and ordered the colonel to enforce the moustache regulation. Within a few days each officer appeared on parade fully equipped with a false moustache, and this appendage was removed when parade was over. How long this continued is not stated, but for a long time the officers of this particular regiment were observed to be clean shaved when in plain clothes and heavily moustached when in uniform. The British infantry shaved the upper lip almost up to Crimean times.

But the Frenchmen's moustaches did not impress young Rice in 1792, for he regarded the Republican soldiers as effete and useless, and likely to become an easy prey to the invading Austrians and Prussians. His dislike for the French as a nation was intense, and he prayed for their downfall. "I think the French," he wrote, "a parcel of d—d rascals, and I heartily hope the Austrians will give them a good thrashing. We are to have a garrison of six thousand men here, for they expect this town to be attacked by the Austrians, who propose to burn the place by firing red-hot bullets, and so pass over its ashes to Brussels." As events turned out, St Omer was not attacked, but it was hardly the place for quiet study, and it is wonderful that, under such circumstances, the boy learned anything. As an experience, his seven months' residence in France must have been full of interest and excitement. He lived, as it were, on the outskirts of the fight—at times with the enemy's guns within earshot, and he constantly saw troops marching to the front to the tune of "Ça ira." He lived also in the midst of the Revolution, for although St Omer itself was comparatively quiet, the accounts which came from Paris sickened him and filled him with righteous indignation. In one of his letters he mentions that he has just heard of the massacre of some thousands of Aristocrats in Paris, and he gives vent to his feelings in no measured terms. "The cruelties and barbarities which have been committed will ever be a stain upon the national character. This French nation, which was once the most gentle, has now by its cruelties rendered itself the most savage and barbarous. I am now a strong Aristocrat, and I should imagine that people in England who favoured the Revolution must have changed their opinions since the recent horrible massacre in Paris."

It was, however, one thing to declare himself an Aristocrat in a letter home, but quite another thing to let it be known in St Omer, and he admits sailing under false colours, in that he wore "the cockaded tricolour, decreed by the National Assembly." He excuses himself thus: "If you were to appear without one, you would be mobbed and called 'Aristocrat' by every saucy boy in the street. So much so that one of the actors last night at the Playhouse, during the time he was performing, was shouted to for his cockade, and they would not let him perform without it. One of the others brought him one, which he put to his breast, but that did not satisfy the audience, for they shouted again à chapeau, and he was obliged to put it in his hat, to save himself from a broken head."

Though Sam Rice held French revolutionary methods in general abhorrence, he appears to have approved of the treatment dealt out to the religious orders, for, in describing events