DEAR BOB,--It’s no use your making more stir about the barley. Business has no business to stand before king and country, and I couldn’t go to Ashford Market and the Review at the same time. The Earl called out the Yeomanry for a grand field day at Bumper Daggle Bottom Common, and to say nothing of its being my horse duty to attend I wouldn’t have lost my sight for the whole barley in Kent. Besides the Earl, the great Duke did us the honour to come and see the troops go through everything, and it rained all the time. Except for the crops, a more unfavouring day couldn’t have been picked out for man or beast, and many a nag has got a consequential cough. The ground was very good, with only one leap that nobody took, but the weather was terribly against. It blew equinoxious gales, and rained like watering pots with the rose off. But as somebody said, one cannot always have their reviews cut and dry. [Illustration: “POUR ON, I WILL ENDURE.”] We set out from Ashford at ten, and was two hours getting to Bumper Daggle Bottom Common, but it’s full six mile. The Bumper Daggle’s dress is rather handsome and fighting like--blue, having a turn-up with white, and we might have been called cap-a-pee, but Mr. P., the contractor of our caps, made them all too small for our heads. Luckily the clothes fit, except Mr. Lambert’s, who couldn’t find a jacket big enough; but he scorned to shrink, and wore it loose on his shoulder like a hussar. As for arms, we had all sorts, and as regards horses, I am sorry to say all sorts of legs--what with splints, and quitters, and ring-bone, and grease. The Major’s, I noticed, had a bad spavin, and was no better for being fired with a ramrod, which old Clinker, the blacksmith, forgot to take out of his piece. [Illustration: SEEING A REVIEW.]