uch as we, Zebede; it is for others who live well,
eat well, and sleep well. They have dancings and rejoicings, as we see
by the gazettes, and glory too in the bargain, when we have won it by
dint of sweat, fasting and broken bones. But poor wretches like us,
forced away from home, when at last they return, after losing their
habits of labor and industry, and, mayhap a limb, get but little of
your glory. Many a one, among their old friends--no better men than
they--who were not, perhaps so good workmen, have made money during the
conscript's seven years of war, have opened a shop, married their
sweethearts, had pretty children, are men of position--city
councillors--notables. And when the others, who have returned from
seeking glory by killing their fellow-men, pass by with their chevrons
on their arms, those old friends turn a cold shoulder upon them, and if
the soldier has a red nose through drinking brandy which was necessary
to keep his blood warm in the rain, the snow, the forced march, while
they were drinking good wine, they say--'There goes a drunkard!' and
the poor conscript, who only asked to be let stay at home and work,
becomes a sort of beggar. This is what I think about the matter,
Zebede; I cannot see the justice of all this, and I would rather have
these friends of glory go fight themselves, and leave us to remain in
peace at home."

"Well," he replied, "I think much as you do, but, as we are forced to
fight, it is as well to say that we are fighting for glory. If we go
about looking miserable, people will laugh at us."

Conversing thus, we reached a large river, which, the sergeant told us,
was the Main, and near it, upon our road, was a little village. We did
not know the name of the village, but there we halted.

We entered the houses, and those who could bought some brandy, wine,
and bread. Those who had no money crunched their ration of biscuits,
and gazed wistfully at their more fortunate comrades.

About five in the evening we arrived at Frankfort, which is a city yet
older than Mayence, and full of Jews. They took us to a place called
Saxenhausen, where the Tenth Hussars and the Baden Chasseurs were in
barracks,--old buildings which were formerly a hospital, as I was told
and believe, for within there was a large yard, with arches under the
walls; beneath these arches the horses were stabled, and in the rooms
above, the men.

We arrived at this place after passing through innumerabl