More amusement is usually to be derived from the Battery Mess than from any other side of the not uninteresting life of the campaign. Let half-a-dozen officers of varying ages, temperaments and ideas be collected at random from half the civilized globe, and set them down in a situation where their only relaxation must be found in one another's company, and watch the result. It can readily be imagined that there are endless piquant possibilities, a vast field of quiet entertainment for the student of the lighter side of existence. As a rule, for the care of its material side, some heavenborn genius arises from amongst the ruck of his fellows, whose well-ordered brain revels in the details of cooks, and ration beef and the most convenient hour for dinner. Happy is the mess in its possession of him, how willingly its members forego any say in the matters pertaining to sustenance, in how docile a spirit do they submit to his autocratic ruling that marmalade is to be kept for breakfast alone, that lunch shall consist of bully-beef and cheese! Our own battery was blessed beyond its fellows in a tyrant of dazzling capabilities, who coaxed mysterious dishes, of course with the collusion of the mess-cook, from the most unpromising materials, who fed us bountifully from secret stores of his own such time as we wandered forlorn over the face of the land, who allowed no comment upon the quality of the bacon or the resilience of the bread. We all looked blindly to him for our daily needs, much as the Children of Israel looked to Moses in the wilderness, and we were never disappointed. May his memory be for ever associated with these precious words--he fed us well!