There is something very comfortable in sacred verses, Master Bunting; but you're a scoffer."
"Psha, man!" said the Corporal, throwing out his right leg and leaning back, with his eyes half-shut, and his chin protruded, as he took an unusually long inhalation from his pipe; "Psha, man!—send verses to the right-about—fit for girls going to school of a Sunday; full-grown men more up to snuff. I've seen the world, Master Dealtry;—the world, and be damned to you!—augh!"
"Fie, neighbour, fie! What's the good of profaneness, evil speaking and slandering?—
'Oaths are the debts your spendthrift soul must pay;
All scores are chalked against the reckoning day.'
Just wait a bit, neighbour; wait till I light my pipe."
"Tell you what," said the Corporal, after he had communicated from his own pipe the friendly flame to his comrade's; "tell you what—talk nonsense; the commander-in-chief's no Martinet—if we're all right in action, he'll wink at a slip word or two. Come, no humbug—
