Major O'SHEEVO. Lieutenant and Adjutant PIPECLAY.
Captain OLDHAM. Ensign LOVELL.
OLDHAM.--Well, Lovell, my boy, so you prefer the claret and the old
Fogies this time to the sparks in the barrack-rooms; we feel the
compliment, I assure you. There comes a clean glass: now, stir the
fire; that's a good fellow.--I'll do as much for you, when I'm your
age.
LOVELL.--Why you see, Oldham, they say you old hands won't let out
while all the mess are here, and you keep your opinions and
experiences for these cosy little horse-shoe sittings. I should like
to pick up a little soldiering, if I could, and so have ventured to
outsit the rest of them.
O'SHEEVO.--Ye're right, ye're right. A man that comes to value his
claret early, has all the advantages of experience, without buying
them dear. An old head upon young shoulders, in fact.
PIPECLAY.--And, you see, the youngster has an eye to a little military
information: that's right.
LOVELL.--Why, these rumours of invasion make one look about him. If
the French come, of course we shall give 'em an infernal good licking;
but I am anxious to get an idea what sort of thing it will be, and I
daresay you talk a good deal of these matters.
O'SHEEVO.--Ah! them French! Oldham, ye don't expect they'll come to
spend next Christmas with us?
OLDHAM.--There's no saying what the rascals might be at; and as Lovell
has broached the subject, we may as well talk it over.
O'SHEEVO.--Bravo! so we will: how say you, Pipeclay?
PIPECLAY.--By all means. You know I mentioned last night how ill I
thought our formations adapted for manœuvring against a hostile
force on the coast.
OLDHAM.--My dear Pipeclay, it is the misfortune of a long peace, and a
theoretical education, that they narrow the mind to strain at matters
of detail, and to neglect the greater consideration, _what_ is to be
done--not how should we do it. Now, in the old second battalion of the
107th, the lads were more apt to talk of the work than the drill-book,
and a finer or more dashing set never wore scarlet.
O'SHEEVO.--Devil a doubt of it: not a man that wouldn't finish his
three bottles before he'd think of stirring; and as for the seasoned
files, the night was always too short for 'em. There's no saying what
those men might have achieved, if they could have found the time.