"Come, O'Shaughnessy, you'll not refuse me." "Refuse you, boy!" said he, grasping my hand within both of his, "never! But you must change your coat.

The gallant Eighty-eighth will never mistake their countryman's voice.

But your uniform would be devilish likely to get you a bayonet through it; so come back with me, and we'll make you a Ranger in no time." "I can give your friend a cap." "And I," said the other, "a brandy flask, which, after all, is not the worst part of a storming equipage." "I hope," said O'Shaughnessy, "they may find Maurice in the rear.
Beauclerc's all safe in his hands." "That they'll not," said Giles, "you may swear.

Quill is this moment in the trenches, and will not be the last man at the breach." "Follow me now, lads," said O'Shaughnessy, in a low voice.

"Our fellows are at the angle of this trench.