In the mean time I have been at some pains to ascertain the sentiments of the yeowomanry on the subject, and if they all feel in common with Dame, the disbanding will be a most popular measure amongst the farmers’ wives. I had no sooner communicated the news, through the old lady’s trumpet, than she exclaimed, that “it was the best hearing she had had for many a long day! The Sogering work unsettled both men and horses--it took her husband’s head off his business, and it threw herself off the old mare, at the last fair, along of a showman’s trumpet. Besides, it set all the farm servants a-sogering too, and when they went to the Wake, only old Roger came back again to say they had all ’listed. They had more sense, however, than their master, for they all wanted to be disbanded the next morning. As for the master, he’d never been the same man since he put on the uniform; but had got a hectoring swaggering way with him, as if everybody that didn’t agree in politics, and especially about the Corn Bill, was to be bored and slashed with sword and pistol. Then there was the constant dread that in his practising, cut six would either come home to him, or do a mischief to his neighbours; and after a reviewing there was no bearing him, it put him so up in his stirrups, and on coming home he’d think nothing of slivering off all the hollyoaks as he brandished and flourished up the front garden. Another thing, and that was no trifle, was the accidents; she couldn’t tell how it was, whether he thought too much of himself and too little of his horse, but he always got a tumble with the yeomanry, though he’d fox-hunt by the year together without a fall. What was worse, a fall always made him crusty, and when he was crusty, he made a point to get into his cups, which made him more crusty still. Thank God, as yet he had never been of any use to his country, and it was her daily prayer that he might never be called out, as he had so many enemies and old grudges in the neighbourhood, there would be sure to be murder on one side or the other. For my own part,” she concluded, “I think the Parliament is quite right in these hard times to turn the farmers’ swords again into ploughshares, for they have less to care about the rising of rioters than the falling of wheat.” The old lady then hunted out what she called a yeomanry letter from her husband’s brother, and having her permission to make it public, I have thought proper to christen it. AN UNFAVOURABLE REVIEW. “You remember Philiphaugh, Sir?” “Umph!” said the Major, “the less we say about that, John, the better.” OLD MORTALITY. _To Mr. Robert Cherry, the Orchard, Kent._