about him. Six o'clock! By George! nothing
should get me up at that unearthly hour except my dear, divine,
delicious little demon Geraldine! But she's so deuced fond of me, one
must make sacrifices for such a little darling."

With which sublimely unselfish and heroic sentiment the bridegroom-elect
drank the last of his hock and Seltzer, took his pipe out of his lips,
flung his smoking-cap lazily on to his Skye's head, who did not relish
the attention, and rose languidly to get into his undress in time for
mess.

As Belle had to get up so frightfully early in the morning, he did not
think it worth while to go to bed at all, but asked us all to
vingt-et-un in his room, where, with the rattle of half-sovereigns and
the flow of rum-punch, kept up his courage before the impending doom of
matrimony. Belle was really in love with Geraldine, but in love in his
own particular way, and consoled himself for his destiny and her absence
by what I dare say seems to mademoiselle, fresh from her perusal of
"Aurora Leigh" or "Lucille," very material comforters indeed. But, if
truth were told, I am afraid mademoiselle would find, save that from one
or two fellows here and there, who go in for love as they go in for
pig-sticking or tiger-hunting, with all their might and main, wagering
even their lives in the sport, the Auroras and Lucilles are very apt to
have their charms supplanted by the points of a favorite, their absence
made endurable by the aroma of Turkish tobacco, and their last fond
admonishing words, spoken with such persuasive caresses under the
moonlight and the limes, against those "horrid cards, love," forgotten
that very night under the glare of gas, while the hands that lately held
their own so tenderly, clasp wellnigh with as much affection the
unprecedented luck "two honors and five trumps!"

Man's love is of man's life a thing apart.

Byron was right; and if we go no deeper, how can it well be otherwise,
when we have our stud, our pipe, our Pytchley, our Newmarket, our club,
our coulisses, our Mabille, and our Epsom, and they--oh, Heaven help
them!--have no distraction but a needle or a novel! The Fates forbid
that our _agremens_ should be _less_, but I dare say, if they had a vote
in it, they'd try to get a trifle _more_. So Belle put his "love apart,"
to keep (or to rust, whichever you please) till six A. M. that morning,
when, having by dint of extreme physical exertion got himself dressed,
saw his valet pac