the neighbourhood: two shillings a day each,
being allowed for the purpose by a considerate
country. The men are accommodated in a
similar manner upon a humble scale, for the
small charge of fourpence each per day, except
in the case of those who have homes within
reachable distances.

It is muster morning, and ten o'clock is the
time for assembling in the barrack square. The
ground has been already marked out for the
position of the companies, from Number One to
Number Ten, or rather from A to K, according
to the recent nomenclature of authority, the letter
J being omitted. By nine o'clock or so, a few
men have arrived, and, taking their respective
places, form a skeleton of the battalion. The
recruits, too, who have been hard at drill for a
fortnight previously, are soon on the ground, and
take a position of their own: the more efficient
among them being drafted from time to time into
companies. The appearance of the men is not
cheering to the unaccustomed observer, who
thinks them about the roughest lot he has ever
seen. But there are rougher to come, and in
the roughest depths there always seems to be
a rougher still, who is continually making his
appearance. The prevailing fashion among them
is to be visibly unkempt and unshorn, with a
strong suspicion of being unwashed. As to
costume, fustian is an evident favourite, and
there is a strong attachment to corduroy; the
fur cap of costermongering life is a strong
peculiarity, with which the billycock of more
general adoption gracefully contends. You will
not see any without coats or boots, but shirts
and socks are not invariable; and you may
observe some in such tatters as might secure the
wearers immediate engagements as scarecrows.
It must not be supposed, however, that there
are no clean, decently dressed, and respectable
looking men. Here and there you find some who
might, and probably do, belong to by no means
the worst class of mechanics or artisans; day
labourers are also largely represented. By ten
o'clock, however, when nearly all are assembled
(the entire strength is a little over eight
hundred) you cannot fail to remark that the
preponderating element is, as far as appearance
goes, of the costermongering kind. Dog-fanciers,
likewise, are considerably represented in
the ranks.

The officers have been arriving in the
meantime, not in plain clothes, but undress
uniform, which they wear on all ordinary
parades. The adjutant and the quartermaster,
who have no sinecure to-day, are among the
first, and the colonel is not among the last.
It is a pleasant gathering of old or new friends,
many not having met since the previous training.

The newly joined officers, unless very
recently appointed, have had four weeks' instruction
with a regiment of regulars, Guards or
Line as they may prefer, so that they can
put in a respectable appearance on parade.
For kindly consenting to make themselves
efficient to this degree, they have been awarded
by a grateful government, the sum of five
shillings per day; their pay in the regiment, as
subalterns, amounting respectively, with lodging
allowance, to nine and sixpence. In the
officers' room you may soon pick up anything
you want to know concerning regimental
matters—why it was that some have resigned,
how it is that others have got leave from the
training, and so forth, with various personal
matters of a more or less pleasant kind. The
colonel, too, comes in, from time to time,
deporting himself in the orthodox manner of
commanding officers—thorough friendliness,
tempered with a thorough sense of discipline.
At ten o'clock, on the sound of the bugle, the
officers of companies take their posts. The
men are all drawn up in order. Their names
having been called over, the business of the day
begins. This is confined to the distribution of
clothing and kits, which are brought out of the
stores, and laid upon the ground in front of the
companies. In some cases, the clothing is
marked with the names of its former recipients,
so that the re-assignment is easy; but this
arrangement is not always observed; and even if
it were, there would still be a great deal of
trouble entailed by changes. A portion of the
clothing is new, and distributed for the first
time. The uniform clothing—the summer and
winter trousers, jacket and tunic, shako and
forage-cap—are made to last for five years: that
is to say, five periods of four weeks each: after
which, and under some circumstances earlier,
they become the property of the soldier. At
the end of each training, and before being
returned into store, they are pressed and
refreshed with a thorough fumigation. As for
his boots, the militiaman is free to walk away
in them; he also retains his two shirts and
two pairs of socks, which are provided afresh
every year. The other articles in his kit—razor,
brushes, knife, fork, and spoon, &c.—pass into
his possession after five years, on the same terms
as the uniforms.

The knapsacks containing the kits are
distributed first. These are all marked with
names, except those issued to the recruits, so
they are soon assigned. The pay-sergeant
calls over the list, and the men come up one
by one, as soon as they can be got into
order for the purpose; but there is a great deal
of talking and practical joking going on,
requiring frequent repression. The sergeant is
a smart specimen of a non-commissioned officer,
an old linesman, wearing the ribbons of the
Crimean, the Turkish, and the Indian Mutiny
medals, besides that of the "long service and
meritorious conduct," on the breast of his
jacket. He is not a man to be trifled with.

"Jenkins!" calls the sergeant; "where's
Jenkins? Oh, I see you. What do you mean
by skulking in the rear? Take that pipe out
of your mouth and come for your knapsack."

Jenkins, in a careless and rather sulky manner
—induced by eleven months' suspension from
discipline—puts his pipe, alight as it is, into
his side pocket, and comes forward, muttering
something about not having heard.