_The_ end of the year is always a merry—and a critical—time in a Scottish regiment. Since the invention of whisky and haggis, New Year has become the season of high feeding and hard drinking. Even the Free Kirker deems it his duty to carry a hauf-mutchkin and a cake. And in the Army it has long been the custom to almost abandon discipline and allow officers and men to enjoy themselves in a thoroughly hearty way. But on this New Year’s Eve there were circumstances which compelled Colonel Corkleg to adopt stern measures so as to keep his men in hand. The first and most important was the activity of the Teutons. These alert students of human nature knew the value of landing in Scotland. They also understood the tippling temperament of the average Scot at this period. And as they had every ship and Zeppelin ready to disturb the orgies of the Scottish nation, it was essential to be spruce, sober, and alert. Every officer realised this, but every Tommy entirely disagreed. They would spend their Ne’erday, come what may. Colonel Corkleg and his fellow-chiefs decided to counteract their schemes of revelry. Passes were barred after 9.30 _P.M._ Every road was picketed. Every public-house within a radius of three miles had almost a regiment on duty at the door. All mounted men were turned into policemen, while all N.C.O.’s were duly warned to abstain from the evils of the national fire-water. Each company officer harangued his men about the wine which stingeth like a serpent and biteth like an adder. And Sergeant-Major Fireworks, with his crony, Sergeant Bludgeon, suddenly became pious and abstemious—in anticipation of events. The final stratagem, however, staggered all. No man was to be paid on this—the great day. Lamentations, groans, and curses were heard on all sides when this order went round. It almost smashed the ingenious scheming of thirsty gentlemen who knew every shebeen in Mudtown. Nevertheless they sallied forth, determined to get hospitality—or demand it—from their many pals and patrons. Down the muddy road they tramped, singing— "We’ve had no pay, We’ve had no pay, We’ve had no pay, No b——y pay to-day." And drink they found. Those that did not secure it, managed to collar a draught of methylated spirits—a time-honoured beverage amongst penurious Scots. Having had their fill, they sauntered towards the Cross to bring the New Year in. The pickets, however, requested or shoved them back to billets without ceremony. And, amazing to relate, on the roll being called, only ten were absent. When "lights out" went, there was a prompt response, which surprised the officers. These unsuspecting gentlemen, believing that the usual revelries would not occur, departed to their beds to rave about the splendid discipline of the regiment. Sergeant-Major Fireworks and Sergeant Bludgeon knew better. The deathlike stillness they gauged to be a deep game. "Don’t trust them, major?"