“Alone!” replied my friend with a sigh; “oh, no; there are six of us in the bungalow—Griff Hall, as they call it—all young hands, none of us a year in the country, and a tearing life we lead; it does not suit me at all, though, and I mean to leave them as soon as I can get another place and a quiet man to chum with.” “Yes, I know your pacific habits, Grundy, and wonder how you got amongst such a set; who and what are they?” “Why, there’s first, Mr. McScreechum, an assistant surgeon; three infantry ensigns, besides myself, and a Lieut. Fireworker,[43] of artillery. I think they are all mad, particularly the doctor, for such a man for mischief I never met with in all my born days. But, Gernon, lad, I hope you will stay for a day or two, at least,” said he, slapping me on the shoulder; “for it glads my heart to see you again, man.” I accepted Grundy’s invitation, and we proceeded to Griff Hall. We found the doctor, with two or three others, on the _chabootra_, or terrace, of the bungalow, all laughing and joking. The former, a huge fellow, six feet two, with a freckled face and a carroty poll, in the act of compounding a glass of brandy-and-water. Grundy presented me as his friend on the way to join my regiment. “Glod to see ye, sir; glod to see ye,” said the doctor, presenting me his shoulder-of-mutton hand; “we’ll use you weel at Griff Hall, sir, and eeneetiate ye intoo oor Eleuseenian mesteries. What’s for dinner, Larking?” said he, turning to a slender, pale youth, in a red camlet raggie; “what have ye got for a treat to-night? Nae mair of your d——d skeenny kid and tough goat mutton I hope. Ah! ye’r a braw chiel to cater for a gentleman’s mess.” “I’ll resign my post to you with pleasure, doctor, if not satisfied with my proceedings,” replied the caterer; “but I think things will be better to-day, for I have given Rumjohn a good trouncing for palming that stuff upon us yesterday. I’ll tell you what there is, doctor, by-the-bye, a capital rooee muchee,[44] for I secured it myself this morning.” “Weell,” said the doctor, “a rooee muchee’s nae bad thing, if it’s frash.” At this moment, three more ensigns, inmates of Griff Hall, hove in sight, rattling up on tattooes, or galloways—tits combining some pleasant varieties of fiddle-head, goose-rump, swish-tail, &c. In India, every one (_i.e._, European officer) must keep a piece of horse-flesh of some sort or other, though it must be allowed that griffins, for obvious reasons, were never remarkable for possessing superior studs. As the new-comers approached, full canter and shuffle, the doctor put forth a screech, compounded of an Indian war-whoop and a view halloo, by way of welcome: the fun was evidently beginning.