along." He endeavours to raise me, but I again fall insensible.

Wednesday.—Remember dimly the horrible events of the last thirty-six hours. I was taken to the police-station, and brought before the magistrate. He would not even look at Temple Bar, and fined me for being drunk and incapable. I drunk and incapable! Oh heavens! To-day I am back in London. The sky is cloudy. No chance of the D. A. now. Shall give up poetry for ever, and for the future write words for songs.

AT A YEOMANRY REVIEW.

Scene—An open space near Baymouth, the watering-place at which the County Yeomanry have been going through their annual training. Along one side of the ground is a row of drags and other carriages, occupied by the local magnates; along another, the less distinguished spectators stand in a thin line or occasional groups, waiting for the review to begin. In the centre, the inspecting officer is judging the best turned-out troop, while the remainder of the regiment are doing nothing in particular.

Yeomanry Non-Com. (who is leading an officer's horse and talking to a female friend of his and her brother with the sense of conferring a distinction upon them). Ah, 'tis not all play this yere trainin', I do assure ye. I've been so 'ard-worked all the week, with all the writin' I've had to do at the orderly room and thet, I've 'ardly 'ad time to live! But I like it, mind ye, I like it more every year I come out and so does my old 'errse, a' b'lieve. And there's this about it too—the girls don't come errfter a feller!

The Young Lady. Well, I'm sure! Now I should have thought when you're in the Yeomanry, it was just what——

The Y. N.-C. Tain't so—not in my case—that's all I can tell ye.

The Y. L. (with coquettish incredulity). Oh, I daresay. With that uniform, too! Why, I expect, if the truth was told, you know more than one young lady who's glad enough to be seen about with you.

The Y. N.-C. (complacently). More than one! Why, theer wurr eight I took out in a boat for a moonlight row on'y lawst night—nawn o' my seekin', but they wouldn't take no denial. I didn't want to be bothered with 'en. I've got other things to do besides squirin' a passel o' wimmin folk about, I hev.

The Y. L. You conceited thing, you! If that's the way you go on, I shan't talk to you any more!

The Y. N.-C. Well, you won't hev th' opportunity, for theer's the Captain calling me up. So long—and take care o' yerselves!

[He trots off, feeling that he has sufficiently impressed them.

The Y. L. (to her brother, with the superiority that comes of a finishing school with all the extras). Distinctly "country," isn't he?

Her Brother. Well, he can't help that. And he rides as straight as any chap I know.

The Y. L. Oh, he's a real good fellow, I know that; still he is just a little —— I did hope I'd polished him up a little while we were at the farm last summer; but there, I suppose you can't put refinement into some people!

Another Young Lady (to her Admirer). I can't make George out yet among them all—can you?

Her Admirer (and George's rival). Cawn't say as I've tried, partickler. But there's one there in the rear rank that hes a look of him; that one settin' all humped up nohow on his 'errse.

The Adored One. Oh, of course, if you're going to make out as George can't sit on a horse!

Her Admirer (sulkily). Well, I'd back myself to ride 'cross country agen Garge any day.

The Adored One. Then why don't you join the Yeomanry, like he has?

Her Admirer (who would if he could afford it). Why? 'Cause 'taint worth my while, if you want to know!

The Adored One. I'm sure it's a smart enough uniform—at least George looks quite 'andsome in it.

Her Admirer. He didn't look very 'andsome when I see him on parade this marnin'; the sun had peeled his nose a treat!

The Adored One. It's well there are some who are willing to make sacrifices for their country!

Among the Carriages.

Mrs. Prattleton. Yes, so sad for him, poor dear; but of course whenever his father dies, he'll be quite comfortable. (Recognising a military acquaintance.) Oh, Captain Clinker, do come and tell me what they're supposed to be doing out there, and whether they've begun yet.

Capt. Clinker (R.A.). Nothin' much goin' on at present. Ah, they seem to be wakin' up now a bit. (As the band strikes up.) There's the general salute; now they're goin' to make a start.

Mrs. Pratt. Who is that little man in the baggy black frock, rather like a dressing-gown, and the cocked hat; and why is he galloping out here?

Capt. C. He's the inspectin' officer; takin' up his position for the march past, don't you know.

Mrs. Pratt. Oh; and they're all going to march past him. How nice! But there's another officer in a cocked hat; is he inspecting, too?

Capt. C. Only their tongues; he's the regimental Pill—the doctor, you know.

Mrs. Pratt. (disenchanted). I quite thought he must be a general at least. Dear me, there's one man in a red coat and a helmet. What is he doing here?

Capt. C. That's the adjutant.

Mrs. Pratt. Oh; and the adjutant always wears a helmet. I see. They've hung red silk round the kettledrums; (pleased) that's real soldiering, isn't it?

Officers (as the regiment marches past by squadrons). Right whe-eel! Eyes right! For-ward! Dress up to your leaders there!

Capt. C. (with languid approbation). The dressin's not half bad.

Mrs. Pratt. No, they're dressed very like Hussars—or is it Artillery I mean? I always had an idea the Yeomanry wore comic uniforms—with shirt-collars, you know, and old-fashioned milk-pail hats with feathers and things. But (disappointedly) there's nothing ridiculous about these. What a frisky animal that trumpeter is riding; look at him caracoling about!

Capt. C. Trumpeters and serjeant-majors always the best mounted.

Mrs. Pratt. Are they? I wonder why that is. (As the regiment ranks by in single file.) But they've all got beautiful horses.

Capt. C. (critically). H'm, they're a fair-lookin' lot. Fall off a bit behind, some of 'em.

Mrs. Pratt. Do they? Then they can't be very good riders, can they?

Capt. C. These fellows? They ought to be; most of 'em, you see, hunt their horses regularly.

Mrs. Pratt. (with a mental vision of dismounted troopers chasing their chargers about the ground). What fun! I should like to see them do that. (As the regiment trots past in sections.) But they don't seem to come off over the trotting.

"'Twas onfortunate fur Garge, him bein' th' only man as fell arf."

Capt.