The feeling of elation at being at last within the sacred halls of the Academy begins to intoxicate the new cadet, when, upon the way over to the barracks, he notices a few stray passersby stop, look at the queer squad, and then smile slowly, almost insinuatingly, as if amused. It is an irritating smile. He sees the orderly smile too. Something has surely gone wrong. His heart goes down, down, down, and he soon feels as if someone had thrown about him a cloak of lead. But on the squad goes. He tries to shake off his heavy feeling, but it is no use. Many days elapse before the heavy mantle is cast aside. He is sure that something dreadful is about to happen. But stay, what is all this disturbance in the Area? Running back and forth between a sally-port and a barracks are a lot of bareheaded individuals, some in military shirt and cit trousers, others in lovely pink striped shirts and gray cadet trousers. They appear very uncomfortable. Several well set-up young cadets are at their heels giving them instructions in stern tones. “Say, soldier, who are those men?” inquires one bold candidate. “Those men are your new classmates,” explains the orderly. Just then a lieutenant comes forward; the orderly turns over his charges and the men of the squad take their places in line with many other candidates who are awaiting their turn to report to the Officer in Charge. No sooner have they placed their grips on the ground, and begun to take life easy while waiting, than a flock of yearling corporals emerge from the Guardhouse. “Stand up all along this line!” commands one. “Hold up your heads, and drag in your chins,” shouts another, as he goes down the line giving each new cadet a little personal attention. “Mr. Dumbguard, put that hat on straight.” [Illustration: _Photo White Studio_ Two Hours after Reporting] All hats are at once adjusted. The whole line assumes an extraordinary appearance of rigidity. The heat becomes more intense. Large drops, globules of perspiration, roll off the crimson faces whose features have assumed a permanent set, depicting grief. Slowly the line advances. More cadet officers appear, giving each candidate the number of his room in barracks. “Mr. Ducrot, your room is 1223, step out and find it, put your baggage there and report back here immediately.” Mr. Ducrot, whose intellect has become somewhat clouded by all of the events and instructions that he has received in the last ten minutes, hurries off in the direction of the twelfth division. * * * * * The instruction of new cadets is under an officer of the Tactical Department. In his work he has both officer and cadet assistants.