ely
trended northward, and, standing out from the whole picture a neatly
printed tablet which proclaimed the nature of this much-looked-forward-to
meal:

Consomme Seal.
Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pudding.
Horseradish Sauce.
Potatoes a la mode and Brussels Sprouts.
Plum Pudding. Mince Pies.
Caviare Antarctic.
Crystallised fruits. Chocolate Bonbons.
Butter Bonbons. Walnut Toffee.
Almonds and Raisins.

_Wines._

Sherry, Champagne, Brandy Punch, Liqueur.
Cigars, Cigarettes, and Tobacco.
Snapdragon.
Pineapple Custard. Raspberry jellies.

and what was left of the Buszard's cake!

The menu was, needless to say, Wilson's work, the exquisite dishes
Clissold produced, the maitre d'hotel was Birdie, and Cherry-Garrard the
producer of surprises in the shape of toys which adorned the Christmas
Tree that followed on the dinner. Everybody got something from the tree,
which was in reality no tree at all, for it was a cleverly constructed
dummy, with sticks for branches and coloured paper leaves. Still, it
carried little fairy candles and served its purpose well.

Then I must not forget the greatest treat of all: an exhibition of slides
showing the life about our winter quarters and the general work of the
Expedition from the starting away in New Zealand to this actual day
almost in the hut. The slides were wonderful and they showed every stage
of the ice through which we had come and in which we lived. There were
penguin pictures, whales and seals, bird life in the pack, flash light
photographs of people and ponies, pictures of Erebus and other splendid
and familiar landmarks, and, in short, a magnificent pictorial record of
events, for Ponting had been everywhere with his camera, and it is only
to be regretted that the Expedition did not take him to the Pole. This
was, of course, impossible, when everything had to give way to food.
Following the photographic display and the Christmas Tree came the only
Antarctic dance we enjoyed. Few of us remember much about it for we were
very merry, thanks to the wine, and there was considerable horseplay. I
remember dancing with the cook whilst Oates danced with Anton. Everybody
took a turn, and associated with this dance I might mention that Clissold
so far f