At charitable concerts in aristocratic drawing-rooms the Dilettante is in great request. On these occasions, he astonishes and delights his friends with a new song, of which, he will have composed both the words and the music, if he may be believed, whilst he was leaning from his casement "watching the procession of the moon-lit clouds." He sometimes smokes cigarettelets (a word must be coined to express their size and strength), but he never attempts cigars, and loathes the homely pipe. In gait and manner he affects a mincing delicacy, by which he seeks to impress the thoughtless with a sense of his superior refinement. In later life, he is apt to lose his hair, and to disguise the ravages of time upon his cheeks by the aid of _rouge_. Yet he deceives nobody, and having grown stout and wheezy is eventually carried off by a common cold in an odour of _pastilles_. He will be buried in a wicker-work coffin covered with lilies, and a rival Dilettante having written a limp and limping sonnet to his memory, will take his evening. * * * * * COMIC SLAUGHTER! (_The Story of the Next Battle, written in advance for Next Month's "Powder Magazine," by a Soldier in the Ranks._) The Victory of Rumtumidity was certainly one of the most amusing things I ever saw in my life. We landed at six o'clock in the evening, and finding a grog-shop, were soon gone coons. Speaking for myself, I saw the colours of the Regiment magnified by twenty! Well, we were ordered to march, and off we started, staggering along in fine style. Out came the moon, and one of us fell down in a dead faint. "Suffering from sunstroke!" said the Surgeon, who was a Welsh Irishman. "Leave him in the sand, and he will soon come to himself when he finds you gone--if he doesn't, the vultures will hasten his movements." This jest made us all laugh. Our Captain hearing one of us roaring a trifle too loud, put his sword through him. Immense! We marched along to the music of the prisoners, who yelled out bravely when they were prodded by the guards set over them. "Did you see the like!" said TIM O'FLANAGAN (from Edinburgh), who, no doubt, would have developed the idea, had not his head at that moment been carried off by a cannon-ball. Very comic! "Now, my lads," said our Captain, who wasn't much of an orator, "look here--England expects every man to do his duty; and, if you don't, why _I_ am having you all watched, and, as sure as beans is beans, the laggards will be bayoneted." This little speech had the desired effect, especially after it had been strengthened by a double ration of grog. Then came the order to charge. We charged, and killed everyone we saw, including our own officers. This simplified matters. A little later the whole place was in our hands. Rumtumidity was taken!