_Mr. Ward._ Yes; Crampton, I believe, was an hospital mate for five or six months; and, I remember, he did duty in the camp which was on the Curragh of Kildare. _Dr. Kyle._ Vast service, indeed! (_a laugh._) _Dr. Adipose._ Gentlemen, I’ll give you a toast--hau:--I’ll give you--Mr. Abernethy and the digestive organs. [_A roar of laughter follows the corpulent gentleman’s toast._ _President._ Why--Adipose--what the deel maks you toast the digeestive organs? _Dr. Adipose._ Because they are our best friends--hau--and the particular supporters of our worthy brother Abernethy. (_applause._) _Major Oldfield._ Gentlemen, I’m sorry my health requires me to leave you. There was a time when I could drink with the best of you: but I am seventy-six years of age, and that I hope will be my excuse for quitting so early this pleasant mess-table. Allow me, before I go, to say that it gives me the greatest satisfaction to see the hospital staff thus consolidated: many attempts were made, during the long time I served in the army, to establish a regular mess in this department, but all failed. I give you joy, therefore, gentlemen, on the attainment of the object now: and I trust you will not receive it as flattery when an old officer tells you, that for forty years in the service, he never had the honour of dining at a mess where there was more military regularity and more enlightened members. Permit me now, Mr. President, to drink “Prosperity to the Medical Officers of the Army--the soldiers’ best friends in the day of sorrow.”[17] (_great applause._) The Major now departed--several of the members of the mess, who were on duty, also retired to the hospital, and the remainder sat in pleasant conversation until eleven o’clock, when they partook of deviled turkey, specially prepared by Doctor Adipose; and having washed it down with a few glasses of claret, broke up for the night. NIGHTS IN THE GUARD-HOUSE. No. VI. “That’s the worst of the army,” said Private Andrews to Sergeant Dobson, as he rose to open the guard-house door--“that’s the worst of it: we are scarcely well acquainted with the inhabitants of a town in which we are quartered, when the route comes, and off we go; perhaps never to see again people that we would wish to spend our lives with.” “Very true,” replied the Sergeant; “I have often felt that, and so have you; but I think there is something about our leaving Ballycraggen which touches your feelings, Andrews, a little more than the leaving of any former quarters in which I have seen you.” “Why, to tell you the truth, I do not like to quit that poor girl, Sergeant; she is a good, kind-hearted creature,” returned Private Andrews, lifting the latch for the purpose of seeing who it was that engaged the sentry in conversation.