Whereupon ten eager voices asked—
"Is there any left?"
"No; finished whole blooming lotsh."
And then his comrades gently kicked him for a cur.
CORRESPONDENCE.
To the Editors of "The Friend,"—Gentlemen,—I have read with much of interest one article in one of your last issues touching the steal at the horses.
As a veteran of the war of 1870, I think that this would be of interest towards much of your abonnés if I should write some words of my proper experiences.
It appears by the article in the number of The Friend of the 19th that the writer desires to carry to the observation of those who themselves find in authority, that by their proper negligence he has been forced to become that which you other English call jail-bird.
Now I have made the war of 1870. I was dragon. I have suffered the same privations and I have smelt the same difficulties on the question of horses, but never I not have failed of myself to find without horse of war. This without myself to boast.