contents to the spot where unclean things are
shot out, till all was tidy and dry around
them.

Early in the afternoon a rapid thaw came
on. The men, instead of being up to their
knees in sludge, could instantly resume the
occupations which the late severe weather
had completely interrupted. Aspirant
trumpeters and embryo drummers made the hills
vocal with "rat-tat-tats" and "too-too-toos,"
resounding from the little green knolls of
rising ground which constitute their practising-
place. Last year's batches of conscripts
and inveterate members of the awkward
squad had to submit to the hated rigours of
drill, which now was possible in the open air.
A gleam of sunshine, that good-naturedly
broke forth to aid the sudden rise of temperature,
allowed the airing of bedding and the
brushing of habiliments without fear of their
taking more harm than good from splashes
of mud and soakings of half-melted snow.
Admiring groups were looking on at the
feats of stick exercise performed by a couple
of corporals, whose manipulation of the
wooden weapon was enough to make one dread
the sight of a broom-handle ever afterwards.
Further down, the dark-blue chasseurs, or
riflemen, were practising hand-to-hand
encounters with their formidable cutlass-
bayonets, so earnestly that, although the
points were corked, an officer had occasionally
to warn them—"Gently, gently; you will do
yourselves harm." The band resumed its
repetitions, or rehearsals, which were
possible now that the pistons did not freeze fast
in the cornets before half-a-dozen bars allegro
were played. In short, throughout the camp,
when the great thaw came at last, things
marched as usual, without the slightest
delay; and all because the trifling precaution
had been taken to remove the snow as it fell.

I may here remark at once that the barrack-
soldier and the camp-soldier are quite a
different race of beings. The former figures
exceedingly well in the mess-room, the
parade, the review, the country-town market-
place, or the county ball-room. The latter
shines forth and shows his value in the open
country, when he is out a-gypseying, where
he has to make use of the most unexpected
expedients—to saw with a gimlet or to fry in
a tea-kettle. The soldier who has not had
some little training in turning makeshifts to
the best advantage before he is engaged in
actual warfare, has to learn the lesson there
at last, and that under unfavourable
circumstances; because he has then two things to
do at once—to fight as well as to attend to
his housekeeping. Although, therefore, it
may seem cruel to turn a man out of warm
barracks when there is nothing to prevent
his staying there, and to compel him to do
as well as he can amidst the rough discomforts
that have to be baffled with in camp, it
really is a preparatory school whose instruction
will serve him in good stead by-and-bye,
when he most needs it, and when even life
and death may hang on the power of
endurance thus acquired.

It is quite a mistake to suppose that fighting
is the only trade a soldier has to exercise;
he is obliged to practise the details of
almost every other trade in turn. It is to
little purpose to land, or let drop from the
skies, a helpless army on any given spot of an
enemy's territory, to let them fight a famous
battle or two, and then to trust their future
welfare to the care of chance and the elements,
as if they stood in no more need of creature
comforts than a set of chess-men whom you
leave on the board, uncared for, when your
game is done. A. private soldier who
marches in the ranks, is a man, of like
passions and feelings with ourselves, and not a
bit of boxwood, bone, or ivory. He is a
young man, too, more susceptible of the evil
influences of fatigue, cold, and malaria, than
tougher veterans forty or fifty years of age.
Hath not a soldier flesh? Hath he not blood,
nerves, lungs, brains, a skin, a heart, and
finally a stomach? If you tickle him will
he not laugh? If you wound and torture
him will he not suffer? If you leave him
without shelter and clothing will he not,
possibly, take a slight cold? If you stick
him for weeks up to the middle in mud is
there no chance of his catching a fever? If
you starve him will not his strength fail?
And if, when he is a-cold, a-fevered, and
an-hungered, you do not provide him, before
it is too late, with medicine or food, with
nursing and a hospital, will he not die, just as
you and I would? French army administrators
answer "Yes."

In the French army, therefore, besides the
military duties that each soldier has to
perform, care is taken to make the most of any
civil accomplishment or talent he may
possess, even in matters that appear to be trifling.
The handicraft trade a man has been brought
up to, his peculiar fitness for one occupation
more than another, even the hobby which
it best pleases him to ride, are all swept
into the general fund, as contributions of
labour. Individual specialities are noted and
cultivated, to be brought into play in time of
need. For instance, the huts of which
the winter camp is composed are almost
entirely the work of the men's own hands.
Some men fetched the wood in artillery
wagons, from the forest of Boulogne, to make
the framework; others puddled with chopped
straw the clay to make the walls; others
plastered the puddle so prepared, cunningly
making it stick in its place. All the help
they had was, assistance in thatching. Then
when the huts were made, there were the
streets to pave, the drainage to be attended
to, decorations to add, and comforts and
necessary adjuncts to be gradually got
together. From the pitching of the first
summer tents to the present occupancy of
clay-built huts (wherein each soldier has