Field-Day Tragedies.
"Ullo, Dicky! Where's your Company? Lost?"
"No, not lost, but gone before!"
No. 3.
2nd Lieut. FITZGERALD LAWLESS.
Saturday.—Utter rot limiting a fellow's baggage; I've simply chucked it. If there was any need, I could live in one shirt just as well as the next man, but I expect the Sergeant Major will think it his duty to point out that two kit bags, a hold-all, plus the regulation tin box, is almost up to field officer form, but I can't do it with less. I'm sure the amount of stuff the sergeants' mess take with 'em is simply appalling.
Trust our mess president will provide for our carnal appetites by the way, but shall take the precaution of laying in a small stock on my own.