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 been an hour in the place before one of the officers rode down to call and to signify to us,—after the manner of British officers,—at what hour tiffin went on up at the mess, and at what hour dinner. There was breakfast also if we could cross the river and get up on the hill early enough. And, for the matter of that, there was a tent also, ready furnished, if we chose to occupy it. And there were saddle horses for us whenever we wanted them. The tiffins and the dinners and the saddle horses we took without stint. Everything was excellent; but that on which the mess prided itself most was the possession of Bass's bitter beer. An Englishman in outlandish places, when far removed from the luxuries to which he has probably been accustomed, sticks to his Bass more constantly than to any other home comfort. A photograph of his mother and sister,—or perhaps some other lady,—and his Bass, suffice to reconcile him to many grievances.

We stayed at Newcastle over a Sunday and went up to service in the camp. The army had its chaplain, and 150 men collected themselves under a marquee to say their prayers and hear a short sermon in which they were told to remember their friends at home, and to write faithfully to their mothers. I do not know whether soldiers in London and in other great towns are fond of going to church, but a church service such as that we heard is a great comfort to men when everything around them is desolate, and when the life which they lead is necessarily hard. We were only three nights at Newcastle, but when we went away we seemed to be leaving old friends under the tents up on the hill.