THE GOOD FORM OF THE FUTURE.

There he stood in his neat, serviceable undress uniform, with a cigar between his lips.  He had abandoned the swagger frogged coat and silk sash for the unpretending patrol jacket of his brethren in the Line.  He had been hard at work all day in barracks, inspecting meals, visiting the hospital, attending parades.  He had paid his company personally, had seen every man, and found that there were no complaints.  He had attended a mess meeting, and had dined at mess, playing a rubber afterwards (sixpenny points) in the ante-room.  He knew as much about the internal economy of the Battalion as the Colonel, the Adjutant, or the Sergeant-Major.  He seemed a soldier of soldiers.  The most casual observer would have declared that he was acquainted with every inch of the barrack-yard.  So general surprise was expressed when the question was asked him.

“What am I?” he repeated, briskly; and then he replied, with a smile, “Can’t you see, stupid?  Why, an Officer in the Guards!”

* * * * *

VOCES POPULI.

AT A GARDEN-PARTY.

SCENE—­A London Lawn.  A Band in a costume half-way between the uniforms of a stage hussar and a circus groom, is performing under a tree.  Guests discovered slowly pacing the turf, or standing and sitting about in groups.

Mrs. Maynard Gery (to her Brother-in-law—­who is thoroughly aware of her little weaknesses).  Oh, PHIL,—­you know everybody—­do tell me!  Who is that common-looking, little man with the scrubby beard, and the very yellow gloves—­how does he come to be here?

Phil.  Where?  Oh, I see him.  Well—­have you read Sabrina’s Uncle’s Other Niece?

Mrs. M.G. No—­ought I to have?  I never even heard of it!

Phil.  Really?  I wonder at that—­tremendous hit—­you must order it—­though I doubt if you’ll be able to get it.

Mrs. M.G. Oh, I shall insist on having it.  And he wrote it?  Really, PHIL, now I come to look at him, there’s something rather striking about his face.  Did you say Sabrina’s Niece’s Other Aunt—­or what?

Phil. Sabrina’s Uncle’s Other Niece was what I said—­not that it signifies.

Mrs. M.G. Oh, but I always attach the greatest importance to names, myself.  And do you know him?

Phil.  What, TABLETT?  Oh, yes—­decent little chap; not much to say for himself, you know.

Mrs. M.G. I don’t mind that when a man is clever—­do you think you could bring him up and introduce him?

Phil.  Oh, I could—­but I won’t answer for your not being disappointed in him.

Mrs. M.G. I have never been disappointed in any genius yet—­perhaps, because I don’t expect too much—­so go, dear boy; he may be surrounded unless you get hold of him soon. [PHIL obeys.