_Col. Diamond._ Von Weber's music is very well, and the King patronizes it; but, 'pon my honour, Lady Fanny's Hussar is more elegant. [_Band play a noise, in which several screams of the clarionet and groans of the trombone are prominent, during which the Mess beat time, or rather move their heads and fingers, occasionally commenting on the piece. At length the instruments cease to play, after a violent struggle of the bassoons._] _Col. Diamond._ Isn't it very good? _All._ Excellent! Superb! _Cornet Small._ Don't his Majesty like that piece, Colonel? _Col. Diamond._ No: 'pon my honour. _Major Flowers._ You see, Colonel, his Majesty requires a little improvement; he is certainly a very good musician, and prefers the Rossinis and Von Webers; but really, I think Lady Fanny's piece _ought_ to please _him_. It has a delightful mixture of movement. _Col. Diamond._ Lady Fanny's is fine; and certainly, her ladyship has got a good _major-key_ in you. _All the Mess._ Bravo!—Hit again!—Bravo!—Bravo! _Dr. Scott_ (_taking snuff_). Ecod I dinna like the thing at a'; it's sic a mixture, that I canna mak heed or tail o't. _Cornet Small._ 'Pon my honour, Doctor, you are a perfect Goth in taste. _Lieut. Rose._ A Vandal, Sir. _Capt. Ploomer._ Nothing but a Hun. _Dr. Scott._ Weel, if I am a Goth, Hun, or Vandal, you ha' placed me in gude company; for you say his Majesty doesna like the piece. Noo I would ask what partic'lar merit Lady Fanny shows? _Col. Diamond._ Merit, Sir!—a—the fact is, Lady Fanny is the best-dress'd woman in town. _All the Mess._ Decidedly! _Major Flowers._ Her ladyship's taste is undisputed: the Austrian knot on the fore part of our full dress pantaloons is from her design. _Col. Diamond._ She discovered an error in the Astrachan fur collar of our pelisse,—suggested an improvement in the side-seams, welts, and hips: Besides, her Russian patterns of neck lines, sliders, and olivets, are lasting monuments of her refinement. Indeed she is a very superior sort of woman, and I'll give you her health in a bumper. [_Lady Fanny is drunk standing._] _Dr. Scott._ But what music has she composed, Colonel? _Col. Diamond._ Some excellent things, indeed: there's her song “_Come Charles to-night_,” which she dedicated to _me_; and there's her Bravura on the burning of Moscow; and her grand Hussar piece, which she has dedicated to _us_.—In short she is a woman of fine parts. _All the Mess._ Oh, delightful! _Dr. Scott._ Wud you sing ane o' her songs, Colonel? _Col. Diamond._ Doctor, you _ought_ to know that the _Nonpareils_ never sing. _Dr. Scott._ Vara weel—ha' it your ain way. _Capt. Bright._ By the by, Lady Mary, her sister, gives a ball to-night.—Don't we go, Colonel? _Col. Diamond._ I should like it, because the Lancers are to be there.—We _must_ cut _them_ out. _Major Flowers._ Oh, certainly!—Decidedly!