. Curiosity, so rampant in the Yankee,
tempts him continually to wander from the ranks to one or other side of
the road.

"Well, Colonel," said a tall Lieutenant, "the Regulars look prim and
march well, but they have done little fighting, as yet, in this Army of
the Potomac."

"You forget the Peninsula," replied the Colonel.

"Oh, there they were caught unexpectedly, and forced into it. In this
Corps they are always in reserve; and that's what their officers
like,--everything in reserve but pay and promotion. It is rather
doubtful whether they will fight."

"Ov coorse they'll fight," said the little Irish Corporal, half rising
from his straw on the outskirts of the crowd; "Ov coorse they will.
They're nearly all my own countrymen. I know slathers of them; and did
you iver in your born days know an Irishman that wouldn't fight,
anywhere, any time, and for anything, if he had anybody to fight?"

"And a quart of whiskey in him," interrupts the Adjutant. "As Burns says
of the Scotch--

"'Wi' Tippeny they fear nae evil,
Wi' Usquebagh they'll face the Devil.'"

"Now, don't be comparing an Irishman, if you plaze, Adjutant, to a
scratch-back Scotchman. The raal Irishman has fire enough in his bluid;
but there's no denying a glass of potheen is the stuff to regulate it.
Talk about Rigulars or Volunteers fighting;--it's the officers must do
their duty, and there's no fear thin of the men."

"What did you enlist for, anyway, Terence?" broke in a Second
Lieutenant.

"It's aisy seeing that it wasn't for a Lieutenant's pay," retorted
Terence, to the amusement of the crowd, and then, as earnestness
gathered upon his countenance, he continued: "I enlisted for revinge,
and there's little prospect of my seeing a chance for it."

"For revenge?" said several.

"Yis, for revinge. I had worked early and late at a liv'ry stable, like
a nagur, to pay the passage money of my only brother to this country.
Faith, he was a broth of a boy, the pride of all the McCarthy's,"--tears
welled in his eyes as he continued,--"just three years younger than
mysilf, a light, ruddy, nately put togither lad as iver left the bogs;
and talk about fightin'!--the divil was niver in him but in a fight, and
thin you'd think he was all divil. That was Patrick's sport, and fight
he would, ivery chance, from the time whin he was a bit of a lad, ten
years ould, and bunged the ould schoolteacher's eyes in the parish
school-house. Will, he