creation of Fancy, the form
of Ellinor--his bright-eyed and gentle cousin, was not the least
conspicuous. Since his altercation with Madeline, the love he had once
thought so ineffaceable, had faded into a dim and sullen hue; and, in
proportion as the image of Madeline grew indistinct, that of her sister
became more brilliant. Often, now, as he rode slowly onward, in the
quiet of the deepening night, and the mellow stars softening all on
which they shone, he pressed the little token of Ellinor's affection to
his heart, and wondered that it was only within the last few days he had
discovered that her eyes were more beautiful than Madeline's, and her
smile more touching. Meanwhile the redoubted Corporal, who was by no
means pleased with the change in his master's plans, lingered behind,
whistling the most melancholy tune in his collection. No young lady,
anticipative of balls or coronets, had ever felt more complacent
satisfaction in a journey to London than that which had cheered the
athletic breast of the veteran on finding himself, at last, within
one day's gentle march of the metropolis. And no young lady, suddenly
summoned back in the first flush of her debut, by an unseasonable fit of
gout or economy in papa, ever felt more irreparably aggrieved than now
did the dejected Corporal. His master had not yet even acquainted him
with the cause of the countermarch; and, in his own heart, he believed
it nothing but the wanton levity and unpardonable fickleness "common
to all them ere boys afore they have seen the world." He certainly
considered himself a singularly ill-used and injured man, and drawing
himself up to his full height, as if it were a matter with which Heaven
should be acquainted at the earliest possible opportunity, he indulged,
as we before said, in the melancholy consolation of a whistled
death-dirge, occasionally interrupted by a long-drawn interlude half
sigh, half snuffle of his favourite augh--baugh.

And here, we remember, that we have not as yet given to our reader
a fitting portrait of the Corporal on horseback. Perhaps no better
opportunity than the present may occur; and perhaps, also, Corporal
Bunting, as well as Melrose Abbey, may seem a yet more interesting
picture when viewed by the pale moonlight.

The Corporal then wore on his head a small cocked hat, which had
formerly belonged to the Colonel of the Forty-second--the prints of
my uncle Toby may serve to suggest its shape;--it had once boast