_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.