‘Well, dearest Lautie, we had a nice Ball last night. There were the Vukeels of S----, with their dark intelligent countenances, Colonel Sykes, your friend, who is really becoming quite a friend of mine, and honest, handsome Sir Henry Pottinger, the very look of whom does one good. I chatted with both the latter amusing gentlemen, and heard from Sir Henry a circumstantial account of his attack of gout, when, he said: “I felt as though I could have roared like a bull.” Sir Henry thinks that ladies should have a glass of champagne after _every_ dance, quadrille, waltz, or polka! “You would see,” said he, “if my plan were followed, how many ladies would come.” ... Papa has had applications for cadetships from Lord Jocelyn and H---- T----. I suppose that in both cases it will be, “I wish you may get it!”’