No small satisfaction has it been to me occasionally to hear that out of the over-abundance of my own buoyancy and lighthearted ness  and I had a great deal of both long ago  I have been able to share with my neighbor and given him part of my sunshine, and only felt the warmer myself. A great writer  one of the most elo quent historians who ever illustrated the military achievements of his country  once told me that, as he lay sick and care-worn after a fever, it was in my reckless stories of soldier life he found the cheeriest moments of his solitude; and now let me hasten to say that I tell this in no Spirit of boastfulness, but with the heartfelt gratitude of one who gained more by hearing that confession than Harry Lorrequer ever acquired by all his own.
He was educated in private schools and earned a degree in medicine in 1831 at Trinity College, Dublin.
He lived in the backwoods of Canada, Germany (Göttingen, Jena), Austria (Vienna), Belgium (Brussels) and Italy (Como, Florence, Spezia, Trieste), where he died of heart failure.
I read the 1903 edition printed by Nelson and Sons. A humorous novel about military life and the confession of Harry. More than one chuckle as Harry romps throughout the country and France looking for love.