The ball-room at Sonepore is a well-proportioned room which holds about two hundred people conveniently. The music is provided by the regimental bands in turns, and is usually very good. A long verandah and corridor outside the ball-room, not too brilliantly lighted up, afford a convenient retreat for those who wish to improve the opportunities of the dance by a little further conversation with their partner before she returns to her chaperone, or is carried off by the man to whom she is engaged for the next dance. If you wander along the corridor you will come first to the tea-room, and then to the supper-room, which will not be opened before midnight. Dancing is usually kept up with much spirit; and as there are always more gentlemen than ladies, the latter seldom have to sit out a dance for want of a partner. But, of course, one ball is very like another ball, and they must all come to an end. Some prudent mammas insist on going away before supper, others more indulgently remain throughout the whole of the programme; but at last “God save the Queen” admonishes even the latest lingerers that it is time to go home. We must not follow the young ladies to their tents; but it is very well known that they do sit up there for a very long time, laughing and talking over all the incidents of the ball. To the men the hour after the ball is often one of grateful refreshment, as we gather together in the comfortable arm-chairs of the _al fresco_ drawing-room, and sit wrapped in our great-coats, smoking the fragrant weed, and protecting ourselves from the cold night air with steaming glasses of whisky-and-water, and discussing the events of the day and the plans of the morrow, until we retreat to our tents comforted with the knowledge that there will be no big gun fired to wake us at daybreak, and there will be no horrid band marching through the camp to disturb our slumbers. And so end the labours of a long Tuesday.