he arrangement of his funeral? To a military
man more than to any other these are serious thoughts. All the
fascinations of an army life, in war or peace, lie in the daily, hourly
associations with your brother officers--the morning cigar, the
barrack-square lounge--the afternoon ride--the game of billiards before
dinner--the mess (that perfection of dinner society)--the plans for the
evening--the deviled kidney at twelve--forming so many points of
departure whence you sail out upon your daily voyage through life.
Versus those you have that awful perversion of all that is natural--an
officer's wife. She has been a beauty when young, had black eyes and
high complexion, a good figure, rather inclined to embonpoint, and a
certain springiness in her walk, and a jauntiness in her air, that are
ever sure attractions to a sub in a marching regiment. She can play
backgammon, and sing "di tanti palpiti," and, if an Irishwoman, is
certain to be able to ride a steeple-chase, and has an uncle a lord, who
(en parenthese) always turns out to be a creation made by King James
after his abdication. In conclusion, she breakfasts en papillote--wears
her shoes down at heel--calls every officer of the regiment by his name
--has a great taste for increasing his majesty's lieges, and delights in
London porter. To this genus of Frow I have never ceased to entertain
the most thrilling abhorrence; and yet how often have I seen what
appeared to be pretty and interesting girls fall into something of this
sort! and how often have I vowed any fate to myself rather than become
the husband of a baggage-waggon wife!

Had all my most sanguine hopes promised realizing--had my suit with Lady
Jane been favourable, I could scarcely have bid adieu to my bachelor life
without a sigh. No prospect of future happiness can ever perfectly
exclude all regret at quitting our present state for ever. I am sure if
I had been a caterpillar, it would have been with a heavy heart that I
would have donned my wings as a butterfly. Now the metamorphosis was
reversed: need it be wondered if I were sad?

So completely was I absorbed in my thoughts upon this matter, that I had
not perceived the entrance of O'Leary and Trevanion, who, unaware of my
being in the apartment, as I was stretched upon a sofa in a dark corner,
drew their chairs towards the fire and began chatting.

"Do you know, Mr. Trevanion," said O'Leary, "I am half afraid of this
disguise of mine. I som