eagerness every shadow that crossed my path. All my early friends
--all my vagrant fancies--all my daydreams of the future I was now to
surrender--for, what becomes of any man's bachelor friends when he is
once married? Where are his rambles in high and bye-ways when he has a
wife? and what is left for anticipation after his wedding except,
perhaps, to speculate upon the 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!