ponies, and oxen, to say nothing of the native attendants close at hand. The former spot where they were encamped was only five minutes’ walk distant, and to insist upon these officers living and working close by their lines is about as reasonable as an order would be for the officers of the Life Guards to sleep in their stables. I am convinced that General Schneider will have to revoke his order, for it will be simply impossible to keep books or accounts in a dust which would be two inches thick in five minutes upon everything; and although an officer’s comfort or health may be a very trifling matter, anything which might be an obstacle to his returning the necessary number of reports and statements will be certain to be considered.(1) Riding through the transport officers’ lines, we come upon a line of tents occupied by the medical staff. Then comes a gap, and then we enter the lines of the European regiments, at present occupied by portions of the 33d and 4th infantry and artillery. Its appearance bears little resemblance to that presented by a regiment under canvas at home. The tents are of an entirely different shape; they are single-poled tents, and are perhaps fifteen feet square. They have canvas walls of nearly six feet high, so that one can stand upright anywhere. Above the tent itself is a cover, which extends over it and projects three feet beyond the walls, making the tent double over the roof, and forming an awning around it. About eight inches is left between the two roofs for the circulation of air. These tents are in their way perfect, but they are extremely heavy, and will be left here, and the troops will take up with them tents known as native “routies”—I do not guarantee the spelling of this or any other native word—which I shall describe hereafter. Not less than the tents do the men differ from the European standard. The gray suits of karkee—a sort of stout jean—and the ugly helmets of the same material, look like anything rather than the garb of the British soldier. Then, too, the arrangement of the camp looks unfamiliar, for the tents are placed far asunder. This is necessitated by the great length of the ropes of the tent. Here, too—strange sight in an English camp—interspersed among the tents are queer bowers of shrubs, covered with gunny-bags, old sacks, and other odds and ends. Round these bowers squat swarthy figures scantily clothed. These are the camp-followers, the attendants on the British soldier; these their abodes. These men draw his water, pitch his tents, sweep out his camp—in fact, perform all the work which a soldier in England does for himself. In India the soldier is a valuable animal. He is valued at one hundred pounds, and is too costly to be risked by doing hard work in the sun. He is kept for fighting only, and it is very right that it should be so. It has been questioned whether it would not have been better to have brought soldiers direct from England, who are accustomed to rough it for themselves.