“Jock Andrews, ye speak your sentiments like a good sodger, and I hope afore long that ye'll have the stripes. Indeed I think yir mark'd oot for it. I agree with ye, there is nae sort o' common life where a man is so weel off as a sodger wha does his duty; but he _must_ do his duty, mind ye. He has got his comfortable hame with his comrades, his breakfast of brochan[18], or tea, or coffee—his dinner o' gude boiled or roast beef, with potatoes—a clean table-cloth, an' a knife and fork; his bed foond him; his claithes foond him; his hospital in sickness, and his barrack-room in health; an' after a' this, a trifle in his pouch to keep the De'il out. He has na bill to pay—not a baubee. What mair does he want? Show me the workin' man o' ony trade wha can say that he has got mair, an' stands clean oot o' debt.” “Not one in England,” replied Andrews. “An' I'm sure you won't find one in Ireland,” observed O'Callaghan. “This is while the sodger is employed in the three kingdoms; but look at him abroad. There he has a' found him, an' o' th' best the country can afford, for twa pence an' a baubee ilka day; the remainder he has to spen'—at least he can coont on saxpence a-day clean out o' a', an' just to do as he likes wi'.” “By the powers, Serjeant!” exclaimed private Mulligan, “if I had fifty brothers an' sisthers, I'd make them all list directly, so I would; and I wouldn't exchange my situation now with any mechanic at two guineas a-week, who works like a pack-hors, and afther all, in rags and in dirt—not a testher[19] to bless himself with. It's only lazy, hulking, ill-tempered fellows, that dislike a sodger's life; they don't like to be ordthered, nor to be clane and dacent; an' so they get kicked about like an owld hat, as they desarve: but let a man do his juty as a man, an' he will find himself respected an' happy; no body dar say _ill you done it_, but all things will go smooth, and he'll be as comfortable an' as snug as a bug in a rug.” “Well done, Mulligan! Bravo! bravo!” roared out all the guard; and an applauding laugh from every listener produced an agreeable effect upon the face of the worthy private, who, no doubt, would have resumed his subject, but that the hour for relieving the posts was arrived—and this put an end to the _confab_. FOOTNOTES: [18] Oatmeal porridge. [19] An Irish appellation for sixpence. THE BISCUIT. —— T'would disarm The spectre Death, had he the substantial power to harm. _Byron._