Scene.—The DepÔt Mess-room at Winchester—a tolerably large apartment, more airy than comfortable; neither carpet nor curtains.—Dinner so so.—Wines of excellent MANUFACTURE.—Company, consisting of fifteen officers, (mostly youths) of different regiments, and of course in different uniforms.—Attendants, three recruits in undress, (white flannel,)—no band; but several dogs barking and scudding about the lobby.

Ensign Newly. By G—d, I never sat down to so d—d a dinner in my life; we get worse and worse every day: the fish smells infernally, and this hash is made of the hard mutton we had on table last Thursday. Simple, my boy, give us a sample of that old cock turkey before you, if you can get a knife into him.

Ensign Simple. I can’t carve. (In a whisper.) Captain Alder, will you cut the turkey? I never carved in my life.

Capt. Alder. Very well, Mr. Simple, I’ll try my skill. Hand that turkey this way, John.

[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.

President. Mr. Newly, I speak of Mr. Trotter as I think he deserves: he may be very honourable, but I think he outran his means, and thereby his honour also.

Several voices (in confusion.) Certainly, d—d dishonourable conduct.

Ensign Luby. Come, lads, hear me: I know Trotter a little; he is a good young fellow; but somewhat too free with his cash; he does not know how to keep it, when he gets it from home. I do not like to see disputes here,—God knows we have enough of them: last night we were all made unpleasant by two gentlemen contending that one’s facings were handsomer than the other’s, and the day before we were thrown into confusion by an argument between two young gentlemen about superior rank and services—both not yet two months in the army. Come, I say—Trotter owes his wine-bill: and for the best of reasons—he had not money enough left to pay it out of seventy pounds sent by his father; because, you see, he played Hell and Tommy (as the phrase goes): so I’ll tell you what—I will pay it myself—ay, or any other friend’s wine-bill; for, as I said before, I touched a fifty to-day.

President. If I am wrong, Gentlemen, I’ll appeal to the voice of the company.

All. No! no! It’s all right. Sit down—sit down.

Ensign Luby. Bring in the wine quicker, you Glundy—dy’ hear, d—n ye!

Glundy. Yes, Sir.

(Servant runs out.

Voice without. Yoix! there, my lads,—he—he—hip—yoix!—hark forward, my jolly dogs!—yo—io—io—io—io—hip!

(Enter Ensign Buckskin.

Ensign Buckskin. How are you, my hearty Cocks!—how are you?

All the Mess. How are you? How do, Buck? How do?

President. Where the devil have you been? eh!

Ensign Buckskin. Been! In bed, to be sure—just got up—swallowed a basin of soup and a small glass of brandy. I was squeamish all the day; but now I’m to rights again. Waiter!—clean glass. Well, how are you, my boys?

(Sits down.

Ensign Newly. How are you, after your last night’s work—eh?

Ensign Buckskin. Oh! by George, Sir, they have taken out a warrant against me.

Ensign Newly. For what?

Ensign Buckskin. For burning the old Constable’s nose. Jackson and Jones are off by coach for Fort Monkton, and so have escaped: unfortunate Jack Buckskin, as usual, comes in for a “good thing.” I shall be up before “his Vorship,” as the “Coves” call him; but d—n his eyes, I don’t care the rowel of an old spur about any infernal magistratical methodist in Winchester. Yoix! my lads! ye—he—hip—old Jack Buckskin against the d——l and all his saints.

[An uproarious laugh from the company, which sets all the dogs in the house barking, and Buckskin gives a regular “view halloo,” accompanied by several of the mess.]

President. Well, tell us how the matter occurred. Didn’t you knock the watchman down first?

Ensign Buckskin. Not at all. Just hear me: Jackson and Jones, and Bob Jennings, the young clergyman—you know Bob—great favourite of the Cathedral big-wigs:—well, they and I were going quietly home about three o’clock this morning, a little merry, and just strolled into the church-yard to give little Fanny Giggleton a good-night serenade: her bed-room window, you know, looks into the church-yard. So we began singing “Rest thee babe” in full chorus, and finished by roaring “Jolly companions every one,” when the watchman came over to us and told us to go home. Jennings the clergyman was nearest to him, and bade him to go to the d——l. Charley seized his Reverence, and his Reverence seized him. I went up to the old guardian, and warned him off: he took no notice; so I caught him by the back of his collar with my left hand, and by the posterior portion of his unspeakables with my right: Jennings held one arm, Jackson another, Jones before us—so on we “run” him out of the church-yard and up the watch-house stairs:—The watch-house, you know, is the ancient theatre, and is over the butchers’ shambles. Into it we bundled him—charged him before the night Constable with highly disorderly conduct, in disturbing gentlemen who were enjoying a song, and also with gross insolence. The Dogberry, of course, sided with the watchman. “What’s your name, Sir?” said he to me. “My name,” said I, “is Old Trumpetson, from the Cape.” He then began to write it down, “T. r. u. m. p. son, that’s it,—Trumpetson,—now I have it. Well, Mr. Trumpetson, you are one of the officers of the garrison; I know where to find you in the morning; and you Mr. Jenkins also.” My cane now happened to drop, and I took the candle off the table to look for it. The Constable stooped down also beside me—his red nose looked so tempting that I could not resist the joke—I bobbed the candle into his face; the light went out, and he roared lustily. All was now confusion: I seized a lantern and rattle—Jackson, Jones, and Jenkins ran down stairs—I after them, first locking the door outside upon the pair within; which I did in an instant. There we left them, and I suppose they neither got light nor liberty, until some of their brethren came to open the door. I know I shall meet with no mercy from old Muddlehead, the magistrate: he hates the military—and me more than all the rest.

Ensign Luby. Did you really burn the fellow’s nose?

Ensign Buckskin. Burn?—ay, that you may depend upon.

Lieut. Short. I saw him to-day in the barrack looking for the Commandant—his nose was in a small calico bag. [a laugh.]

Ensign Buckskin. Well, they may all go to the d——l in a bunch. I’ll pay the fellow for his nose.

Ensign Luby. Ay, Jack, my boy, and if you want money—see here! it is at your service.

[pulls out a handful of notes.

Ensign Buckskin. I don’t know that I shall run short yet; however, lend me ten: [takes a note out of Luby’s hand] thank you—all right, Luby; I’ll pay you, my boy.

Ensign Luby. Don’t mention it; I have this day received a remittance, as I said before, and any of my friends may share it as far as it will go. I have not been long in the army, but I know this—that good-fellowship is the soul of it.

Capt. Alder. I think you said this evening, that Trotter’s fault was liberality.

Ensign Luby. Yes, yes—but liberality for ever! that I say.

[A strong hiccup, together with certain rollings of the eye and screwings of the lips, now gave evidence of Mr. Luby’s intellectual state.

Capt. Alder. Well, gentlemen, I must be off. Will you go, Captain Bell?

Capt Bell. Yes.

Capt. Saunders. So will I.

[The three Captains rise and withdraw.

Ensign Luby. Let them go: what do we want with Captains here? we are all jolly subs. now; so Buckskin give us a song.

Ensign Simple. I—think—I’ll—go—too. [rises.

Ensign Luby. Ay, go and take your gruel.

Ensign Simple. I don’t know why you talk of gruel, Mr. Luby. I wish to go to bed early, and to rise betimes in the morning to my drill:

Ensign Buckskin. Well, no preaching! good-night—say your prayers, and tie your night-cap well on.

[Ensign Simple now retires sulkily, accompanied by a laugh from all the company.

Ensign Luby. That fellow is fitter for the pro—pro—profession of a—hic—linendraper, than the the—hic—trade of a soldier. Come, I’ll give you a song.

Ensign Buckskin. Bravo! song! song! Now I mean to begin the evening.

[Ensign Luby sings “The glasses sparkle on the board,” so completely out of tune that nobody knows what to make of it; the conclusion, however, is loudly applauded.

Ensign Buckskin.—

Ye—he—hip! Yoix! hark forward! stole away! e-oic!—e-oic!—e-oic!—hoo—oo—oo—hip!

All the Mess. Bravo! bravo! bravo!

[Just as the song concludes, a servant enters and approaches the table.

Servant. Plase your honor, Gintlemin, the Major sinds his compliments to yiz, an’ hopes that yiz won’t make such an uproar; becaise the Major’s lady, my misthress, has a great headache. I know, to my own knowledge, that she took physic this mornin’, an’ complained of a gripin’. (A roar of laughter.) Oh, ’faith! I tell yiz no lies at all at all; for she’s as crass as two sticks to boot; which always shows she’s ill.

Ensign Buckskin. Ill-tempered you mean, Sir. Go along, and tell the Major that we shall endeavour to moderate our mirth; and, d’ ye hear?—very sorry for the Major’s lady. (Exit Servant.) What the d——l have ladies to do living in barracks, I say.

Ensign Luby. Right—hic—Barracks are only fit for single men—hic! Fire away, lads! who cares for the—hic—Major?

Ensign Newby. Or his wife either?

Ensign Buckskin. He’ll have us all to drill in the morning for this. So, my lads, let us drill him a little now. Song—song!

[A tremendous noise is heard, something like the rolling of bricks or large stones down stairs.

All the Mess. Eh! what’s that?

Ensign Buckskin. It’s the Major. He has fallen down stairs. (A similar noise is heard nearer the door.) Here he comes—now for a wigging. Don’t laugh for a dukedom.

Voice (without). I’ll see who dared to serve me so—that I will.

[The door opens, and Ensign Simple, half undressed, enters, pushing before him a small donkey. A roar of laughter greets the visitors.

Ensign Simple. You may laugh, Gentlemen, but I am determined to have satisfaction for this disgraceful conduct. (Another roar of laughter.) It is no joke—it is a most disgraceful liberty to take with any one; and I will not suffer it. I neither offend nor meddle with any body, and I expect nobody will meddle with me.

Lieut. Short. What, in the name of all that’s beautiful! is the matter with you? Are you mad?

Ensign Simple. Mad! No, Sir; but I have been disgracefully treated. This donkey, Sir, has been brought up to my room, and tied fast in my bed, Sir;—the whole of my apartment, Sir, has been dirtied and disfigured by the brute. (Shouts of laughter.) You are all concerned in this shameful trick. Why don’t you play upon those who deserve it? I never make free with any of you.

Lieut. Short. Perhaps that’s the reason they play tricks on you.

Ensign Simple. Then I am determined to put it down. I bore with former insults, but I will not with this. You took a leg of mutton and a pound of butter out of my cupboard last week, and put them between my sheets, along with the fender: this I took no notice of. But to put a creature like that into my bed, dirty as he is—I’ll never bear with it. I’ll write to my father to-morrow to come down and investigate the affair.

Ensign Buckskin. You must be a clever fellow, as well as a very presuming one, to fix the donkey-saddle on us. Who told you that we did it?

Ensign Simple. I know it was some of you, if not all.

Ensign Buckskin. Come, ask the gentleman himself who tied him in the bed; he knows more about it than you do, a great jackass as he is.

Ensign Luby. (to the Donkey.) Who tied you, Sir?—hic—eh?—He won’t answer.

Ensign Simple. I see you are all leagued against me, because I don’t squander my money amongst you; but I’ll have satisfaction—that I’m resolved on.

(Ensign Luby, inattentive to the last observation, mounts the donkey and rides him round the mess-table, while Buckskin gives a tremendous view halloo! During the uproar, the Major-commanding enters with his servant, frothing at the mouth with passion.

Major. Turn that donkey out directly. What can all this mean? Mr. Short, I am surprised that you, who have been a member of a regimental mess, should join in such disgraceful proceedings. Who brought this animal here?

Several Voices. Mr. Simple.

Major. Then, Mr. Simple, go to your room. Consider yourself in arrest.

Ensign Simple. I am not to blame, Major.

Major. Go to your room, Sir. I’ll not hear a word to-night; your conduct is disgraceful.

Ensign Simple. I am not the person.

Major. You brought the ass into the mess-room, Sir.

Ensign Simple. I found him in my bed, Sir, and covered with my bed-clothes: it is impossible that I can sleep in my room to-night, from the horrid state in which the animal has left it.

(The Major’s ire could not bear up against this; he struggled against an involuntary laugh, and had nearly overcome it, when a certain motion of the animal, and a grotesque elevation of his tail put an end to all his efforts to be severe; so he gave way to a hearty fit of laughter, in which all but Simple joined.

Major. Take the cursed brute away, you Sir.

(Pat the servant pulls the Donkey out of the room.

Pat. He’s a horrid headsthrong baste as ever I pult.

(Exeunt Pat and Donkey, followed by the mess-waiter.

Major. I see how it is, Mr. Simple; there has been a trick played off at your expense. I am very sorry that folly should lead officers to such excesses, but I fear we can never remedy the evil. I am an old officer, gentlemen—I have been thirty years in the service, and as long as I can remember a depot-mess, it has been the same—all disjointed—one scene of disagreement constantly presents itself. A number of mere boys meet together, unacquainted wholly with the rules and habits of a regiment,—uncontrolled by the friendly opinions and directions of their own superior officers, and they give way to every species of folly. I do believe that the practice of sending Ensigns to depots is most injurious to the service. A youth is sent from school to a depot, where there is not perhaps one officer of his own regiment: little or no attention is paid to his conduct; he is neither advised nor restrained, at a time when he most requires it; and the consequences are, that every folly, if not vice, assails him, and he joins his regiment with an impression which even that excellent school finds difficult to remove—his health impaired, and his pocket exhausted. Gentlemen, I am giving you a friend’s opinion, and hope every one of you will use your exertions to check the follies which prevail but too much at this depot: and let me also assure you that the sooner you all join your respective regiments the better—each of you can use your private exertions to that effect, and I will use mine.

[This address produced symptoms of sanity in the young officers; they in the most cordial manner thanked the Major, who shook hands with them all, and the party retired in the most unexpectedly peaceable disposition.

The above sketch is not at all exaggerated: it is outlined for the benefit of young officers; and also in the hope that it may meet the eye of those of their superiors who may have it in their power to remedy the defect.