THE LIFE OF A SOLDIER.

Observer, Volume 7, Issue 333, 25 April 1885, Page 15

THE LIFE OF A SOLDIER.

A soldier's life is a glorious thing. I have served in the militia six weeks, and have a great-uncle who draws a J pension; consequently I know all about it. There is something inspiring to me about the glitter of a bayonet. I think it runs in our blood, for my great-uncle used to be affected in the same way while in the service. I have good reasons for supposing that it was the glitter of a bayonet which inspired him to run away. At any rate, it was the beginning of his good luck, for he came home and cut his thumb off in a corn-cutter the same day which entitled him to compensation from Uncle Sam for lost time. This was the only time he was hit during the war, though he monkeyed around a mowing-machine until after the snow flew, and fell off no less than sixty-times. The only reason why he was not wounded more profitably than he was, was because he did not dare to fall off on the side where the knives were. I have marched twice in ranks since I became a member of the militia, once on Decoration Day, and once on the fourth of July. It was grand. The man with the bass-drum was just in front of me, and I had the lion's share of the music all to myself. There were ' only two drawbacks to my perfect satisfaction, j On Decoration Day I got my gun on the wrong shoulder and knocked an officer's cap off; and on the Fourth of July, when we came to stack arms and listen to the address by Gen. j — } I let the stack fall, and frightened the orator's horses so that they ran away and nearly threw him out. He was so scared that he had to get one of the ministers of the town to read his oration. Such martial tunes as " Jenny, My Own True Loved One," and "We Do Not Speak as "We Pass By," stir the blood in my veins till it seems as though 1 could vanquish an army single-handed. I have often wondered why our band played these tunes so often and so well. I asked the leader, recently, and he said it was because they didn't know any others, but they were going to begin practising on "My Grandfather's "Clock" when the warm werther set in, and see if they could popularize it. I think that I shouldlike to go to war. Ido not know now how I should like it after I got there; but I feel confident that my record would, at least, entitle me to a pension. Not that I am anxious to see this great nation plunging into another unpleasantness for the mere sake of allowing me to display my valour; but if such a thing should happen, I wish it to be understood that I should leave my present employers with less than a month's notice. On general principles, Ido not believe in war. That is where my great- uncle differs from me. He does. He thinks the late war was a good thing. A soldier's life, in some respect, must be rather slow. I should not miss the excitements of home life so much, perhaps, as a man who had a wife and a lot of unpaid taxes in the house ; but still, I should often lie in uiy lonely tent at night and weep for the sound of a firebell or the wild enthusiasm of a torchligtit procession. I am abnormally fond of action. That is why it is so hard for me to sit still in meeting when there is a dog-fight going on outside. I hardly think a soldier's life wauld be stirring enough for me. I am looking forward with great delight to the annual encampment of the militia next summer. I am always active clear through after 1 have lived for a week on corned-beef and crackers, and marched in the hot sun all day. I expect to be promoted after the muster; if lam not I shall quit, lam determined to be either an officer or a veteran — preferably, the latter.