Christmas-night in the camp at Korti was indeed a merry one, and although under the eyes of Lord Wolseley and his staff, the soldiers were in no way repressed in their jollity and fun--for a little of the latter goes a long way in the army--and, all unlike the Northern Yule to which they were accustomed, it was without snow or icicles, holly-berries, mistletoe, and plum-pudding; but those who lingered round these watch-fires on the arid sand of the Soudan had many a kindly and tender thought of the bright family circles, the loved faces, and household scenes of those who were dear to them, and were so far, far away beyond the drear Bayuda Desert, and beyond the seas, in many a pretty English village, where the Christmas carols were being sung while the chimes rang joyously in the old ivied steeple, in memory of the star that shone over Bethlehem--the herald of peace and goodwill to men. Ere that festival came again more than one battle had to be fought--Khartoum would be lost or won--Gordon saved or abandoned and betrayed--and many a young heart that was full of joy and hope would be as cold as inexorable death could make it; but no thought of these things marred the merry night our soldiers spent as they turned into the bivouac at Korti--for though called a camp, it was scarcely a complete one. Dick Mostyn had procured some wine from an enterprising Greek sutler; and this he shared freely with Lindsay and others while it lasted. Though poor, and such as was never seen on the mess-table, it was voted 'capital stuff,' in that part of the world, and Dick--with a sigh--wished his 'throat was a mile long,' as he drained the last of it. 'Such a wonderful flow of spirits you always have, Dick!' said Lindsay. 'Well--I have made up my mind to be jolly, remembering Mark Tapley and his Eden,' replied Mostyn. 'Jolly on your couch--the sand?' 'Jolly as a sandboy--yes; yet not disinclined to pray for the man who invented a good feather-bed, even as Sancho Panza did for him who invented sleep.' Indeed, Mostyn admitted that he was happier in the Soudan than he had been in England. He had fluttered the dovecots of the West End with tolerable success, and might have 'bagged an heiress,' as he phrased it; but high stakes at his club, bets on every possible thing; a bad book on the Derby, ditto on the Oaks; unpaid accounts--St. John's Wood and 'going to the devil on all fours,' marred his chances; then his gouty old governor had come down upon him with his 'cut-you-off-with-a-shilling face;' and Dick thought he was well out of all his troubles, and had _only_ the Arabs to face in the Soudan. Next day the regiment was inspected and highly complimented by Lord Wolseley, as 'the first to come up with the boats,' adding, 'I know you will do credit to the county you are named after and to the character you have won. I am proud to have such a battalion on service with me.'