I looked round the picture gallery at home the other day; there are twelve Lord Ashbridges in uniform.

So, as I shall be Lord Ashbridge when father dies, I was stuck into uniform too, to be the ill-starred thirteenth.

But what has it all come to?
If you think of it, when did the majority of them wear their smart uniforms?
Chiefly when they went on peaceful parades or to court balls, or to the Sir Joshua Reynolds of the period to be painted.

They've been tin soldiers, Francis! You're a tin soldier, and I've just ceased to be a tin soldier.
If there was the smallest chance of being useful in the army, by which I mean standing up and being shot at because I am English, I would not dream of throwing it up.

But there's no such chance." Michael paused a moment in his sermon, and beat out the ashes from his pipe against the grate.
"Anyhow the chance is too remote," he said.