of laughter at himself than in praise of his own part in the incident.
The first time he told the story was in the house of Medallion the auctioneer.
"Aw the night it was!" said Kilquhanity, after a pause, blowing a cloud of tobacco smoke into the air, "the night it was, me darlin’s! Bitther cowld in that Roosian counthry, though but late summer, and nothin’ to ate but a lump of bread, no bigger than a dickybird’s skull; nothin’ to drink but wather. Turrible, turrible, and for clothes to wear—Mother of Moses! that was a bad day for clothes! We got betune no barrick quilts that night. No stockin’ had I insoide me boots, no shirt had I but a harse’s quilt sewed an to me; no heart I had insoide me body; nothin’ at all but duty an’ shtandin’ to orders, me b’ys!
"Says Sergeant-Major Kilpatrick to me, ‘Kilquhanity,’ says he, ‘there’s betther places than River Alma to live by,’ says he. ‘Faith, an’ by the Liffey I wish I was this moment’—Liffey’s in ould Ireland, Frenchies! 'But, Kilquhanity,’ says he, ‘faith, an’ it’s the Liffey we’ll never see again, an’ put that in yer pipe an’ smoke it!’ And thrue for him.
"But that night, aw that night! Ivery bone in me body was achin’, and shure me heart was achin’ too, for the poor b’ys that were fightin’ hard an’ gettin’ little for it. Bitther cowld it was, aw, bitther cowld! and the b’ys droppin’ down, droppin’, droppin’, droppin’, wid the Roosian bullets in thim!
"‘Kilquhanity,’ says Sergeant-Major Kilpatrick to me, ‘it’s this shtandin’ still, while we do be droppin’, droppin’, that girds the soul av yer.’ Aw! the sight it was, the sight it was! The b’ys of the rigimint shtandin’ shoulder to shoulder, an’ the faces av ’m blue wid
