It's life, that's where it is; it ain't rusting." "Then you prefer the French service ?" "Right and away, sir.

You see this is how it is," and the redoubtable, yellow-haired "Crache-au-nez-d'la-Mort" paused in the vigorous cleansing and brushing he was bestowing on his Corporal's uniform and stood at ease in his shirt and trousers; with his eloquence no way impeded by the brule-gueule that was always between his teeth.

"Over there in England, you know, sir, pipe-clay is the deuce-and-all; you're always got to have the stock on, and look as stiff as a stake, or it's all up with you; you're that tormented about little things that you get riled and kick the traces before the great 'uns come to try you.

There's a lot of lads would be game as game could be in battle--aye, and good lads to boot, doing their duty right as a trivet when it came to anything like war--that are clean drove out of the service in time o' peace, along with all them petty persecutions that worry a man's skin like mosquito-bites.

Now here they know that, and Lord! what soldiers they do make through knowing of it! It's tight enough and stern enough in big things; martial law sharp enough, and obedience to the letter all through the campaigning; but that don't grate on a fellow; if he's worth his salt he's sure to understand that he must move like clockwork in a fight, and that he's to go to hell at double-quick-march, and mute as a mouse, if his officers see fit to send him.