But as the smoke gradually cleared away, the stalwart figure of the Commander-in-Chief, yclept DRURIOLANUS himself, was seen bowing his acknowledgments. But what was it all about? "'Why, that I cannot tell,' quoth Old CASPAR, 'but 'twas a famous victory!'" And if you, my non-combatant readers, wish to know how the Burmese War was undertaken for the special benefit of HARRY NICHOLLS, you just go and see for yourself the new drama, mysteriously entitled _A Life of Pleasure_, at T. R. Drury Lane, and for this advice you will thank "OLD CASPAR." * * * * * A MOOT POINT.--The G. O. M. is reported to have been engaged in translating _Horace_. Is this a picturesque way of referring to the recent elevation of Sir HORACE DAVEY? UNHAPPY INFLUENCE OF MODERN MUSIC-HALL MELODIES. "THERE LIES THE BRAVE KNIGHT, DARLING, WITH HIS FAITHFUL DOG AT HIS FEET, AND HIS WIFE BY HIS SIDE!" "AND HAS SHE GOT A DOG, TOO, MUMMY?" "NO, DARLING, ONLY A CUSHION!" "AH, I SUPPOSE HER DADDY _WOULDN'T_ BUY HER A BOW-WOW-WOW!" * * * * * THE "FORLORN HOPE." ["It is understood (says the _Daily News_) that Mr. GLADSTONE will speak in Edinburgh on Wednesday, September 27, on the action of the House of Lords in rejecting the Home-Rule Bill. His followers are expecting him to give the word of command for an attack on the Upper House."] "_CHILDE ROLAND to the Dark Tower came!_" So runs The boding refrain BROWNING visioned out. CHILDE ROLAND valiant was, and wondrous stout; But that Dark Tower, which never noonday suns, Full-garrisoned by feudal myrmidons, Might strike to ROLAND'S heart the chill of doubt. Four-square to the four winds the fortress stands, Pinnacled high upon a frowning rock. It hath survived the many-centuried shock Of elements, the assault of myriad hands, And to the attack will you now lead your _bands_, Whose rage crag-crowning battlements seem to mock? True from those battlements they've hung, in scorn, Your herald, whose torn trappings wildly wave In the rough wind. Though 'tis too late to save You'd fain avenge. Such flouts are hardly borne By Leaders whilst old lips can sound a horn And hands, though ancient, yet can lift a glaive. Sound an alarm! Let the fierce war-cry sound! Your followers listen for it. They will cheer When its defiant shrill salutes their ear. Down with the Fortress! Raze it to the ground! End it, not mend it! So they rattle round, The shoutings and the floutings far and near. And you, the new CHILDE ROLAND, what think you, At heart, behind that bold and fluent tongue? Lead a Forlorn Hope? Yes, though Death's self flung Its form of bony shape and grisly hue Athwart your path! But--is here aught to do That's _worth_ the venture, when all's said and sung?