that—certainly that—I am very glad of it, and
that if I had known it—naturally—I should
have saved you all the same. There!"

The corporal—that subaltern commandant—is
the connecting link between the soldiers and the
inferior officers. Charged with the direction of
four men, you are aware with what modesty he
acquits himself of that important mission.
Occasionally obliged to send in a report, he
compresses his orthography in a style which is not
without its merit.

"Onthetwen tysev enthmarchin theeve ningwe
metfourmen."

[On the twenty-seventh March, in the evening,
we met four men.]

In eighteen hundred and forty-odd, Monsieur
De X., the préfet of a department, resigned his
place, to come to Paris. But monsieur, his
son, twenty years of age, was gifted with sundry
qualities which unfitted him for the capital.
Consequently, young De X. enlisted in the
Hundred and First, in the expectation of dazzling
everybody around him by his smartness
and his handsome allowance. The very day of
his arrival he heard a corporal call him by
name.

"The matter, ying man, is that you are on
corvée, task-work, to-day, and that you must
sweep out the court, ying man."

"Good!  We'll see about it."

So the young patrician set to work bravely.
After slaving at it for a couple of hours, the
court was a little dirtier than when he began.
Up came the corporal.

"What have you been doing there?"

"I have done what I could; but I don't
know——"

"You don't know—and they call you a
eddiccated ying man. I dare say! But how did
they spend their time in your family, if they
never taught you how to sweep a yard?"

"I meant to learn, as soon as I had taken my
degree."

"The explanation is quite sufficient; begin
again, and try to do it better. If you don't, I
will nail you for four-and-twenty hours."

"Oh! corporal, you have too much
integrity——"

"That will do; don't add insolence to
insubordination."

In a regiment, there are as many types of the
soldier as there are men—from the model
grenadier to the fellow who will be shot. The latter
is known by the name of customer; but the race
has rapidly diminished ever since the government
has interfered with the procuring of substitutes.
The town workman, when he is called
by lot, turns soldier with indifference, sometimes
gladly, when the times are hard; but the
case is quite different with country folk. One
day a peasant lad received a paper, summoning
him to join his regiment. He ought to have
been prepared six months, because, at the
conscription he drew No. 7. He weeps; it is a
sad thing to leave his kindred for so long a
time, and to be cut off from communicating
with them, because he cannot write. A conscript's
departure is pitiable to see. After grief,
comes rage; he says he is a peasant, and won't
be a soldier. He seizes his gun, his flail, his
scythe, and is transformed, for two or three
minutes, into a sort of revolted angel. But his
father comes, and says, "It is your duty."
His mother pretends to dry her tears; he goes
away singing. On reaching his corps, he neither
weeps nor sings. The revolted angel is become
an angel of resignation. In six months, you
will see him proudly strutting in the Champs
Elysées, cheerful and happy.

Did you notice a man with a red nose, and a
ribbon the colour of his nose, closely buttoned
up to the chin, with a stiff gait, a sparkling eye,
and a brush moustache? He follows the
regiment. We found him at the door of the
officers' mess-room, we saw him in the barrack-
yard, and we find him again at the gate of the
quarters. That man is Captain Morel, the last
of the grognards, or grumblers, literally
translated.

The species is becoming rare, which is not
to be regretted. This person is an unique
specimen of the grognard and ill-bred officer.
Retired on half-pay, three years ago, he cannot
live without the regiment to which he ceases
to belong; he is now merely an ornamental
appendage. He is tolerated, but not liked; he is
wearisome. His only excuse is that he has
been a brave fellow in his time. While he was
in the corps, the soldiers used to say, "That
mad fellow, Captain Morel, is never happy but
when he is in a rage."

During his last year of service, the colonel,
who had been made an officer of the Legion of
Honour, gave a grand dinner, to which were
invited the authorities of the town and the whole
staff of officers. As ladies were to be present,
he sent for Morel to come and speak to him.

"Captain, I give a dinner on Monday."

'' I know it, colonel."

"And, as I hold you in esteem, I have sent
you an invitation, but I now beg of you not to
come."

"May I ask, without indiscretion, colonel,
why you offer me such an affront as this?"

"Mon Dieu; captain, there is no affront in
the matter, since the refusal will come from
you; but considerations which you will
understand——"

"All I understand is, that I am not considered
in the least."

"Well, then; I am afraid that your very
military style of conversation should shock the
ladies whom we expect."

"A thousand thunders! May the devil's
carcase double strangle me if I understand!"

"You will go on in that way at table. You
know that the city dames are a little——"

"Stiff and starch, precise and prim; butter
won't melt in their mouths. They screw up
their lips like——"

"Exactly."

"Very well, colonel, the thing is settled; I
won't come. I am a mangy, itchy, scurvy fellow.
It's a pleasant position——"