PORTHOS looked at ATHOS, and ATHOS glanced at ARAMIS.  Then they replied in a breath, “It has been disbanded.”

“Disbanded!” echoed D’ARTAGNAN.  “But where are the accounts of the Corps?”

Then the three friends replied in a mournful tone, “Filed in the Court of Bankruptcy!”

“And what do you call this filing of officers’ accounts in the Court of Bankruptcy?”

“We call it the last act of the Volunteer Movement, which, by the way, however, was not entirely voluntary!”

And the four friends having no further occupation requiring their joint attention, shook hands warmly, and parted—­for ever!

* * * * *

MEN WHO HAVE TAKEN ME IN—­TO DINNER.

(BY A DINNER-BELLE.)

NO.  I.—­THE OVER-CULTURED UNDERGRADUATE.

[Illustration]

  He stood, as if posed by a column,
    Awaiting our hostess’ advance;
  Complacently pallid and solemn,
    He deigned an Olympian glance. 
  Icy cool, in a room like a crater,
    He silently marched me down-stairs,
  And Mont Blanc could not freeze with a greater
    Assurance of grandeur and airs.

  I questioned if Balliol was jolly—­
    “Your epithet,” sighed he, “means noise. 
  Vile noise!  At his age it were folly
    To revel with Philistine boys.” 
  Competition, the century’s vulture,
    Devoured academical fools;
  For himself, utter pilgrim of Culture,
    He countenanced none of the Schools.

  Exams:  were a Brummagem fashion
    Of mobs and inferior taste;
  They withered “Translucence” and “Passion,”
    They vulgarised leisure by haste. 
  Self to realise—­that was the question,
    Inscrutable still while the cooks
  Of our Colleges preached indigestion,
    Their Dons indigestible books.

  Two volumes alone were not bathos,
    The one by an early Chinese,
  The other, that infinite pathos,
    Our Nursery Rhymes, if you please. 
  He was lost, he avowed, in this era;
    His spirit was seared by the West,
  But he deemed to be Monk in Madeira
    Would probably suit him the best.

  “Impressions of Babehood” in plenty
    Succeeded, “Hot youth” and its tears,
  Till I wondered if ninety or twenty
    Summed up his unbearable years. 
  Great Heavens!  I turned to my neighbour,
    A SQUARSON by culture unblest;
  And welcomed at length in field-labour
    And foxes refreshment and rest.

* * * * *

QUESTION OF THE KNIGHT.—­If it be true, as was mentioned in the World last week, that Mr. Justice WRIGHT has “climbed down,” only to be placed upon a higher perch, will any change of name follow on the Knighthood?  Will he be known as Sir ROBERT RONG, late Mr. JUSTICE WRIGHT?

* * * * *