his long tramp back to camp, for it was quite out of the question that the pony could carry him in addition to these burdens. Not a little laughter was excited on his arrival, and there was quite a rush of the various officers to procure their share of Jack's purchases, for no officer had been down to Balaklava for a fortnight, and the stores of luxuries were completely exhausted. Next night Jack and his messmates gave a grand entertainment. Harry and two other lieutenants of the 33d--for the battle of the Alma had made so many death vacancies in the regiment that he had obtained his promotion--were there, and two young officers of the 30th who were cousins of one of Jack's tentmates. It certainly was a close pack. Tom Hammond had obtained some planks, and, laying these on the flour barrel, had contrived a sort of circular table, round which the parties sat with their backs to the wall, on boxes, empty preserved potato tins, rum kegs, and portmanteaus. There was no room for Tom to enter the tent, so the full dishes were handed in through the entrance, and the empty ones passed out. Each guest of course brought his own plate, knife, fork, spoon, and drinking tin. As for a change of plates, no one dreamed of such a thing. Outside, the night set in wet and gloomy, but four tallow candles stuck in bottles threw a grand illumination. The first course was pea-soup. It smelt good, but it had a suspicious appearance, globules of grease floated upon its surface. All fell to with a will, but with the first spoonful there was a general explosion. "What on earth is this, Jack?" Harry exclaimed. "What the deuce is it?" another said. "It is filthy!" While one of the young officers of the 30th exclaimed to his cousin, "Confound it, Ned! you haven't brought us here to poison us, have you?" This explosion was followed by a simultaneous shout for Tom by his six angry masters. The top-man put his head in at the slit. "What the deuce have you been doing to this soup?" roared the indignant chorus. "Soup, your honors? Nothing." "Nothing! Don't tell me, you ruffian!" exclaimed Allison, the oldest of the midshipmen. "It's poison! What have you been doing to it?" "Well, your honor, the only way I can account for it is that a while ago I took off the lid to see if it was boiling nicely, when a bit of tallow candle I had in my fingers slipped and fell into it. I couldn't get it out, though I scalded my fingers in trying, and it just melted away in no time. I skimmed the fat off the top, your honors, and didn't think it would make no matter." The shout of laughter which greeted the explanation was loud and general. "You're a scoundrel, Tom!" Allison said, "and I shall have to ask Mr. Hethcote to disrate you, and get some one here who is not a born idiot. Here, take this horrible mess away! Pour the contents of your plates back into the pot, boys, and put the plates together. You must wash them, Tom, or the tallow will taste in everything we have."