A change in the manner of life on a troop-ship has been effected almost as complete as _Oliver Twist_ shows to have taken place in the administration of public charity, or as Charles Reade shows in the conduct of His Majesty's prisons. Trooping in the 'seventies and 'eighties resembled pretty closely transport on an old slaver--in respect of rations, ventilation, dirt, and space for exercise. By comparison this is luxurious. Perhaps the most notable difference is that there is no beer. The traditional regimental issue of one pint _per_ man _per diem_ (and three pints for sergeants) has been abolished. It is chiefly in a kind of Hogarth theory that this is deplorable; most of the romance of beer-drinking is confined to the art of such delineators as Hogarth and Thackeray. But amongst a section of the men the regret is genuine. Especially hard was a beerless Christmas for many who had been accustomed to charge themselves up with goodwill towards men at that season. There is a dry canteen, the most violent beverage, obtainable at which is Schweppes's Dry, and hot coffee. Besides, it drives an incessant trade in tobacco, groceries, clothing, and chocolate. We are a people whose god is their belly. During canteen hours an endless queue moves up the promenade-deck to either window of the store, and men purchase, at the most prodigal rate, creature comforts they would despise on land. With many of them it is part of the day's routine. The leisure and associations of Christmas Day here brought home to the bosoms of most men, more clearly than anything had done previously, what they had departed from. There was hilarity spontaneous; there was some forced to exaggeration, probably with the motive of smothering all the feelings raised by the associations of the festival. You may see, in your "mind's eye, Horatio," the troop-decks festooned above the mess-tables, and all beneath softened with coloured sheaths about the electric bulbs. There is strange and wonderful masquerading amongst the diners, and much song. A good deal of the singing is facetiously woven about the defective theme of "No Beer." But beside, the old home-songs were given, and here and there a Christmas hymn. It was a strangely mingled scene, but not all tomfooling--not by a great deal. The Chaplain-Colonel celebrated Holy Communion in the officers' mess at 7 and 8 a.m., and afterwards at Divine-Service on deck addressed the men. Chiefly he was concerned with an attempted reconciliation of the War with the teaching of Christianity. The rest of the day went _ad lib._