and do their duty, whatever it may be, with scrupulous exactness and punctuality. On the field of battle the one is as good as the other; and who can say that the national spirit, the vital energy, of the thorough Englishman, Irishman, or Scotchman, has not always been as firm on the battle-field with the men descended from poor parents as those who can boast of the great and rich for their progenitors? My object in making the above observations is to press upon the minds of such of my readers as are already or may eventually become volunteers, that in the event of a war breaking out, and the spirit of patriotism extending, as it invariably does, to militia and volunteer corps, it would be the height of folly to enter the regular army, without first calculating the consequences of so great a change from the "feather-bed soldiering" at home to that I have described as a matter of imperative duty to the regular soldier on a campaign. The maintenance of a large volunteer force at home is as much a matter of policy with our Government, as it is to send the regular army abroad to meet the enemy. Therefore, morally, the volunteer is, considering his capability, as much entitled to credit as his brethren in arms, who by nature are better fitted to the post of danger and hardships assigned to them. A certain class of civilians (speech-makers at public meetings, and the like) frequently state that "a better system of rewards, and a milder discipline, would bring a better class of men into the army." No change that could be devised would bring a better class of men into the army. The British army has nearly always conquered every army it encountered: this, therefore, should be proof sufficient that it is the best army. But good as it undoubtedly has been, and, moreover, sorely put to the test, through the incompetency of its leaders and administrators, it never was in anything like the state of efficiency it is at the present time; and it doubtless will continue to improve until engaged in another campaign. When on the line of march, I have often heard civilians question soldiers as to their feelings and individual experience in action. "Did you not feel frightened?" they would say; and I daresay that many of my readers would like to hear the same query truthfully answered. Now, I am well aware that there are some enthusiastic people who would almost consider it a "national crime," so to speak, for any person to assert, or in the most distant manner insinuate, that at the commencement of a battle a British soldier feels anything approaching to fear; yet in making a few remarks upon this subject, I am compelled to admit that all British soldiers are men, and it is peculiar to the constitution of man to be afraid on the approach of death, unless he becomes so excited that his passions overcome his reflection.