ule of
ordinary etiquette; and thus, amid discussions of the campaign and its
chances, were mingled personal adventures, and even private narratives,
all told without the slightest reserve or hesitation: how such a one had
got up from his sick-bed, and reported himself well and fit for duty,
and how such another had pleaded urgent private affairs to get leave to
go home; what a capital pony Watkins had bought for a sovereign, what
execrable bitter beer Jones was paying six shillings the bottle for;
sailors canvassing the slow advances of landsmen, soldiers wondering
why the blue-jackets would n't "go in" and blow the whole mock
fortifications into the air; some boasting, some grumbling, many
ridiculing the French, and all cursing the Commissariat.

If opinions were boldly stated, and sentiments declared with very little
regard for any opposition they might create, there was, throughout, a
tone of hearty good-fellowship that could not be mistaken. The jests and
the merriment seemed to partake of the same hardy character that marked
each day's existence; and many a story was told with a laugh, that could
not be repeated at the "Rag," or reported at the Horse Guards. Classon
and Driscoll listened eagerly to all that went on around them. They were
under the potent spell that affects all men who feel themselves for the
first time in a scene of which they have heard much. They were actually
in the Crimea. The men around them had actually just come off duty in
the trenches: that little dark-bearded fellow had lost his arm in the
attack of the Mamelon; that blue-eyed youth, yonder, had led a party in
assault on the Cemetery; the jovial knot of fellows near the stove had
been "plotting" all night at the Russians from a rifle-pit. There was
a reality in all these things that imparted a marvellous degree of
interest to individuals that might otherwise have seemed commonplace and
ordinary.

Amidst the noisy narratives and noisier commentaries of the moment,
there seemed one discussion carried on with more than usual warmth. It
was as to the precise species of reward that could be accorded to one
whose military rank could not entitle him to the "Bath."

"I tell you, Chidley," cried one of the speakers, "if he had been a
Frenchman there would have been no end of boasting amongst our amiable
allies, and he 'd have had Heaven knows what grade of the Legion and a
pension, besides! Show me the fellow amongst them could have done the
f