Saturday.—I don't think I ever felt less inclined to get up in my life. It is simply dreadful to contemplate the fact that for the next week there won't be a moment's peace for me after 5 A.M. And something horrible is sure to happen—either the Sergeant Major will go sick, or the Colonel's wine will be corked, or I shall be asked to explain things.

The Station Master seems unduly flurried for one of his years—says we shall block the whole line if we don't get away soon. Had no idea the railway system of the country was so easily upset. What is the matter with the youth Thompson? Oh, he is in charge of the baggage for the time being. It seems to excite him very much. Fortunately, baggage has a nice little way of turning up in the long run, somehow. I wish they wouldn't ask me what sort of work we shall do in camp; they must think I'm a sort of military encyclopÆdia. Frightful scene detraining, Volunteers always remind me of flustered hens on these occasions.

Sunday.—"Oh those dreadful bugles!" Usual church parade. The Colonel is certain to forget his purse, so I'll take a sovereign for him. His expression when he sees I've nothing less, will be touching. As a spectacle, effect somewhat marred by the presence of a cyclist in violent tweeds.

Monday.—Really a very amusing day. The struggles of the various Company officers simply fascinating to watch, they have so many ways of doing the same thing. I have never been able to fathom the mind of the Volunteer N.C.O., but I should think he conceives his duty consists of remaining eternally in rear of his men. I asked one what he thought he was placed in charge of a section for, and he answered very truthfully that he didn't know. I think I must get him sent out in charge of a patrol when the Brigadier is about, he will be so pleased. Someone asked me what I thought of the men's drill. I said it was very interesting, and that I'd seen regulars do it quite as badly.

Tuesday.—Had a most elaborate Brigade drill, which I believe we are not supposed to do, but it afforded me great joy. Everyone else seemed to loathe it. The Colonel got rather worried, which was a nuisance, as I had to keep at his elbow to put him right. I don't think any one really knows what to do, but if you only take long enough about any movement, you generally get a fresh command before you've got absolutely wrong. By some miracle we didn't get quite in a muddle, which was a pity, as the Brigadier would have given everybody the most awful "dirt." Felt quite sorry when it was over. The Colonel uttered a heart-felt "Thank God!"

Wednesday.—A most amusing little field day. I think we did everything we should not have done. Not a soul paid the faintest attention to cover, and when we got into the quite open country everyone took the opportunity to reform the lines. I pulled up a Subaltern who was doing it in the most barefaced manner; he was very cheerful about it, said it would save no end of confusion, and it was much easier to do "out here" than when you were "bottled up in a bally wood!" I should rather like to know what the men think of field days. The issue of blank ammunition usually keeps them quite cheerful for the first half-hour; then, if they happen to be in reserve they get very sulky and think they're being "done in the eye," and when they eventually get into the firing line, they loose off every round they have as fast as possible, and from that moment take no further interest in the proceedings.

Thursday.—Annual Inspection to-day. Took every precaution, carefully coached two companies in piquet duties, and put the rest in reserve. Told the Captains if they had any old soldiers in the ranks to put them in the responsible positions. Thank goodness the Chief invariably asks the same questions, so hadn't to bother about other things. It would be too dreadful if he started dodging us. I wish officers would not say they've received no instructions about all sorts of things. It may be perfectly true, but you can't get them to see that they ought to say anything but that. Had rather a fright when I heard the G.O.C. was paying a surprise visit to the outposts, but something kept him off us. The Sergeant Major said we should get an awful wigging over the camp, as it wasn't half cleaned up, so had to get the Colonel to keep lunch going as long as possible. Men turned out for inspection better than I expected, but one wretched youth in No. 1 Company got his bayonet jammed. Thought we were in for it, but luckily his struggles were so pathetic that the Chief had to laugh, and forgot to make any nasty remarks until he'd almost finished the inspection. We might train a humorously-minded boy to do something of the sort every time.

Friday.—Usual wind-up field day. Did "pooja" to everything I could think of, in the hope of being placed in reserve, but it didn't come off. Had a positively dreadful time. Our portion of the firing line seemed to fascinate the G.O.C., nothing would make him go away. Gave us frightful "dirt" because the men insisted on standing up to see the Commander-in-Chief and Staff go by, when they were supposed to be under cover and lying down. One of the Staff got off rather smart thing—said the Volunteers combined the minimum of expense with the maximum of inefficiency.

Saturday.—Broke camp. I don't know which is worse, getting to camp or coming away from it. It doesn't matter what arrangements you make, it always results in hopeless confusion, and everybody goes about cursing somebody or something. I shall keep out of the way as much as possible, and I shall go on leave directly we get back.