er-cook, stirring the contents, which was bean-soup, with an
iron ladle. In the room above were long rows of bunks, stacks of
muskets, with other warlike implements and equipage. A number of men
were lounging on the berths, some reading, some boasting, and others
telling long yarns. There was one stout, moon-faced gentleman laying
on his broad back "spouting" Shakspeare. This individual, to whom I
was introduced, turned out to be Sergeant Smith, another son of
Thespis, who had left the boards for a more permanent engagement, not
with the enemy, for those were days of peace, but with that stern old
manager, Uncle Sam. Sergeant Smith was, perhaps, the most important
person in his own estimation, on the banks, not even excepting the
captain. There can be no doubt but that the stage suffered a great
loss when he left it, for, indeed, he told us so himself. In a little
while the call sounded, the roll was called, and all hands turned in
to dinner. Penn-- had provided me a seat by his side; and, for the
first time in my life, I sat down to soldier fare. There was a square
block of bread at the side of each pewter plate, a tin cup of cold
water, and very soon a ladle-full of the steaming bean-soup was dealt
round to each. It was a plain but a substantial dinner. Poor Penn--,
as he helped me to an extra ladle of soup, observed, with the most
solemn face imaginable, that the man who hadn't dined with soldiers
"didn't know beans;" an expression more apt than elegant. During the
space of three months I made weekly visits to the barracks, and was
gratified to find that my friend Penn--, in spite of his formidable
rival, Sergeant Smith, was fast rising in the confidence of the
commanding officer and the estimation of the men. Smith, too, was
judicious enough to hide any jealousy he might have felt, and like a
true soldier, imitated his superior, and treated Penn-- with marked
distinction.

Such having been the state of affairs for so long a time, my surprise
and indignation may easily be imagined, when upon calling, as usual,
to see my friend, Sergeant Smith, with a most pompous air, informed me
that he was not acquainted with the person for whom I inquired.

"Not acquainted with Penn--?" cried I, with the most unbounded
astonishment.

"No, sir," proudly replied the imperturbable sergeant, assuming the
strictest military attitude, looking like a very stiff figure-head,
seeming as if it would crack his eyelids to wink.

"Not acq