es in his own language--he
was an Irishman by birth--which I did not understand. When he had
reached his quarters he pressed my hand, and said, in a tone in which
there was something indescribable--something that had never been heard
before, and which still echoes in my soul: 'Good night, lieutenant!
Heaven guard you, and give you good dreams!' This Major O'Malley was
one of the strangest men possible, and if, perhaps, I except a few
somewhat eccentric Englishmen, whom I have met, I know no officer in
the whole great army to compare in outward appearance with O'Malley.
If it be true--as some travellers affirm--that nature nowhere produces
such peculiarities as in Ireland, and that, therefore, every family can
exhibit the prettiest cabinet pictures, Major O'Malley would justly
serve as a prototype for all his nation. Imagine a man strong as a
tree, six feet high, whose build could scarcely be called awkward, but
none of whose limbs fitted the rest, so that his whole figure seemed
huddled together, as in that game where figures are composed of single
parts, the numbers on which are decided by the throw of the dice. An
aquiline nose, and delicately formed lips would have given a noble
appearance to his countenance, but his prominent glassy eyes were
almost repulsive, and his black bushy eyebrows had the character of a
comic mask. Strangely enough there was something lachrymose in the
major's face whenever he laughed, which, by the way, seldom happened,
while he seemed to laugh whenever the wildest passion mastered him, and
in this laugh there was something so terrific, that the oldest and most
stout-hearted fellows would shudder at it. But, however, seldom as
Major O'Malley laughed, it was just as seldom that he allowed himself
to be carried away by passion. That the major should ever have an
uniform to fit him seemed an utter impossibility. The best tailors in
the regiment failed utterly when they applied their art to the formless
figure of the major; his coat, though cut according to the most
accurate measure, fell into unseemly folds, and hung on his body as if
placed there to be brushed, while his sword dangled against his legs,
and his hat sat upon his head in such a queer fashion that the military
schismatic might be recognised a hundred paces off. A thing quite
unheard of in those days in which there was so much pedantry in matters
of form--O'Malley wore no tail! To be sure a tail could scarcely have
been f