Miss A.'s to mine. But fancy me proffering a spare-rib, well done, to
some fair lady! What ever are we to do for spoons and forks and plates?
Each soldier has his own, and is sternly held responsible for it by
"Army Regulations." But how provide for the multitude? Is it customary,
I ask you, to help to tenderloin with one's fingers? Fortunately, the
Major is to see to that department. Great are the advantages of military
discipline: for anything perplexing, detail a subordinate.


New Year's Eve.

My housekeeping at home is not, perhaps, on any very extravagant scale.
Buying beefsteak, I usually go to the extent of two or three pounds. Yet
when, this morning at daybreak, the quartermaster called to inquire how
many cattle I would have killed for roasting, I turned over in bed, and
answered composedly, "Ten,--and keep three to be fatted."

Fatted, quotha! Not one of the beasts at present appears to possess an
ounce of superfluous flesh. Never were seen such lean kine. As they
swing on vast spits, composed of young trees, the firelight glimmers
through their ribs, as if they were great lanterns. But no matter, they
are cooking,--nay, they are cooked.

One at least is taken off to cool, and will be replaced tomorrow to
warm up. It was roasted three hours, and well done, for I tasted it.
It is so long since I tasted fresh beef that forgetfulness is
possible; but I fancied this to be successful. I tried to imagine that
I liked the Homeric repast, and certainly the whole thing has been far
more agreeable than was to be expected. The doubt now is, whether I
have made a sufficient provision for my household. I should have