First Officer: "I heah the men are gwousing about their gwub." Second Officer: "Er--I think they get their wations wegularly." Third Officer: "Oh, dem! They're alwight. Anyhow, what do they want with gwub? A little more turkey and peas, and--er pass the whisky, Fwed." _The Waggon._ Quartermaster-Sergeant (to kindred spirit): "Look 'ere; twelve tins of bacon, sixteen of jam, biscuits, and a jar of rum. Lemme see; there's twelve of us, and twenty of them. 'Umph, that's eight tins of bacon and eleven of jam for us, and four of bacon and five of jam for them. Let 'em 'ave four biscuits a man; save the best for us--don't forget--" Kindred Spirit: "And the rum?" Quartermaster-Sergeant: "Confound it; I nearly forgot that. Oh--er--er--take 'em a cupful, and--er--say we're on half rations." _Chorus from minor waggonites from round cook-house fire._ "We don't want to fight, And, by Jingo, if--we--do, We've got the rum, we've got the tea, And we've got the sugar, too." _The Yeomen's Lines. Men just in from patrol._ Man with bullet hole in hat: "Is tea up?" Enter orderly corporal with rations: "I say, you fellows, it's 'damall' again to day." Chorus: "!!!???***" Of course it is evident to you that the above extracts are from a burlesque written by a man in the ranks. Alas! there is a perpetual feud existent between "the brave, silent men at the back," and ditto those at the front, consequently any joke at the expense of the "waggon crowd" is always appreciated beyond its value. Sergeant-Major Hunt, who had been acting as quartermaster-sergeant for several weeks, did us remarkably well; but, alas, he has been invalided into Pretoria, and another has reigned in his stead, who has done evil in (or rather out of) our sight; being either incompetent or too clever. By the foregoing, you can see that I have not got much news to record. We expect some of the time-expired Police to join us on Sunday or Monday, and so, I fancy, we shall not move till they come up. OUR FRIEND "NOBBY." [Illustration: 'Nobby'.]