[_One of the attendant recruits takes the dish of turkey, and in making an unnecessary circuit of the table, flaps down upon his face; the dish is smashed, and the turkey rolls to the far end of the mess room, followed by streams of gravy and the regrets of the company._] _Ensign Newly._ O, curse you for a clodhopper! Run after the turkey, you rascal. [_John runs and takes up the turkey, but drops it immediately._] _Lieut. Short._ What do you drop the turkey for, Sir, eh? _John._ (_Blowing his fingers._) It’s roasting hot, zur. _Capt. Alder._ Send the mess-waiter here, and then go to your duty, Sir. You are not fit to be a scullion. [_Exit John; and as he goes out, three pointer dogs and a terrier run into the mess-room, and skurry about; one of them seizes on the turkey, but finding it too hot for his palate, drops his prey, and begins to bark loudly at it. The Mess-waiter and two attendants arrive in time, and beat out the dogs, after some difficulty, owing to the canine taste for gravy._] _Lieut. Grub._ Well, d-- me, if this is not a pretty _mess_. I wish I was back with my old corps once more, in the wilds of Canada. I never saw a depôt mess yet that could manage a good servant. _Capt. Alder._ Never! (_In a whisper._) Did you ever know it to manage _any thing_ good? _Lieut. Short._ Mess-waiter! what follows this course? _Mess-waiter._ Rabbits, and the cold beef, Sir. _All._ The cold beef! The eternal cold beef! _Mess-waiter._ Gentlemen, I assure you the market was so bad to-day, that we could only find that turkey; but the beef is very sweet and good yet. _Ensign Newly._ Mind, that we have no hashed or deviled turkey this week. [_looking significantly at the dirtied bird._] _Mess-waiter._ Oh no Sir; we’ll eat this ourselves. _Ensign Newly._ You will have fine sand sauce then. [_Hash and harrico are now served out amongst the half-grumbling, half-laughing mess, but a glass or two of wine restore matters a little; the rabbits and beef are scarcely tasted, and dinner is concluded on cheese and stale tarts._] _Ensign Luby._ Send round the wine, Mr. President. I have just touched the cash to-day. Old dad has sent me a fifty, and I am determined to be comfortable. _President._ Then I’ll send in your wine account to-morrow, my lad. _Ensign Luby._ Ay, do, do--you’ll not find me like Mr. Trotter, who marched off yesterday without waiting for his. _Several._ What! is Trotter off? _President._ Yes: and in a very ungentlemanly way too. I knew he couldn’t stand the follies he gave way to--out every night until three, and never sober. _Ensign Newly._ I think, Mr. President, as I am a member of the same corps to which Trotter belongs, you have shown no great proof of taste in mentioning his name so disrespectfully before me.