During the war in the Peninsula, two British soldiers were regaling
themselves after a long fast, on a crust of mouldy bread. "This is but
sorry fare, Tom," observed one of them, "especially after the hardships
and dangers we have suffered." "What do you mean by sorry fare," exclaimed
his comrade, with philosophical composure, at the same time holding up a
piece of the mouldy bread; "this is what the good people in England, who
sit down to a comfortable hot dinner every day, call military _glory_!"
* * * * *