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Perhaps half the day is the men's own—clear. It is spent largely in lounging and smoking, partly in sleeping, a little in reading. There are well-worn magazines—such as Mr. Ruskin would disapprove—and little else, except sixpenny editions of the limelight authors. But in reading and such effeminate arts what good soldier will languish long?

There are sports, of a sort—very sporadic and very confined. They commonly take the form of passing-the-ball and leap-frog.

The Censor has an ipse dixit way, and is his own court of appeal. These notes could otherwise be made a little less inconsecutive.

We steamed out of —— a little after dawn in column of half sections, artistically out of step and with the alignment nautically groggy. Our ship took the head of one column; the flagship led the other. That procession is a sight unique, which you are defied to parallel in the annals of passenger shipping. The files come heaving along, like a school of marine monsters disporting themselves....

(Censor at work again.)