A relation of mine, who was Colonel of the 42d Highlanders, commanded that gallant regiment at the celebrated battle of Alexandria in Egypt, and was wounded at the commencement of the engagement, and bled a whole day in his wounds. His brother officers wished him to retire to the rear, but he exclaimed, "never shall it be said that Dickson has skulked to the rear in order to save himself." Towards night he became so weak, by loss of blood, that he had to be supported on horseback. He returned home, and was raised to the rank of a General; but his mind was so affected by the wounds he received in the service of his country, that he was never after altogether compos mentis. He returned to Edinburgh, where he lived in retirement, except occasionally when he was visited by some old veteran. My father, being closely connected, visited him. When he was introduced to the general, he was received in an unceremonious and eccentric manner. I was then a child in my father's arms, and as he entered the door, he said, "who's this you have got, Walter?" My father replied, "my son, Tom." "Those Toms always turn out to be mad fellows." With that he took me in his arms, and paced the room with his drawn sword, for he never went without it, and said that I would be a grenadier yet, and then he flourished the sword round his head and mine, and at the same time exclaimed, "Let them come forward that dare to insult the name, the blood, of Dickson," while his eye gleamed with wild
