“‘Just so,’ says my father; ‘devil a more politeness ever they taught me.’
“‘What regiment do you belong to?’ says the general.
“‘The North Cork, bad luck to them!’ says my father, with a sigh.
“‘They ought to be proud of ye,’ says the general.
“‘I’m sorry for it,’ says my father, sorrowfully, ‘for may be they’ll keep me the longer.’
“‘Well, my good fellow,’ says the general, ‘I haven’t more time to waste here; but let me teach you something before I go. Whenever your officer passes, it’s your duty to present to him.’
“‘Arrah, it’s jokin’ ye are,’ says my father.
“‘No, I’m in earnest,’ says he, ‘as ye might learn, to your cost, if I brought you to a court-martial.’
“‘Well, there’s no knowing,’ says my father, ‘what they’d be up to; but sure, if that’s all, I’ll do it, with all “the veins,” whenever yer coming this way again.’
“The general began to laugh again here; but said,—