was officially notified that he had the option to retire from the regiment, or stand a court-martial. Irritated at his colonel's conduct in the transaction, my father chose the former alternative, and at the early age of twenty-four he left the service in disgust—a major upon half-pay.

Turned adrift upon the world, the major's first impulse would have determined him to join his second brother, who held a military command in Germany, but an incident had already decided the future career of my unlucky and light-hearted parent.

It happened that, during the preceding spring, when the 18th were quartered in Manchester, my father had obtained a short leave of absence to run up to London, and in the stage-coach accidentally encountered a gentleman and his daughter, to whom during the journey he contrived in some way to be serviceable. The lady

was

returning from a watering-place, whither she had accompanied her father. She was very young, very pretty, and very romantic; and it would have been extraordinary indeed, if the marked attentions of the handsome traveller should have escaped her observation. The

major at first sight was exceedingly enamoured. He was, however, no Romeo, but a firm believer in that leading axiom of a soldier's creed, that he is bound, as a point of duty, "to love all that is lovely, and all that he can"—and at that time he was unfortunately a pluralist in flirtations, having three affairs to occupy his leisure, and each of them important ones too. The old gentleman was shy and repulsive, as his daughter was winning and unsuspicious; and for the greater portion of the journey, the former eschewed all approximation towards companionship. Still the constant and gentlemanly attention of his fellow-traveller could not be entirely disregarded; and when his carriage met the stage, he interchanged cards with the polite passenger, and gave him an invitation to visit him when returning from the metropolis. While with jealous care the old traveller watched the transfer of his luggage, the young ones were taking a hasty farewell, and, I suspect, a tender one. Ellen Harrison departed deep in love, and for the two next stages, my father was silent and melancholy as a Trappist.

How long the fit would have continued is un

certain; but, fortunately for his peace of mind, a young dress-maker joined the coach in Coventry. He was thinking on his absent love-the soft seductive eye-the glance, downcast and furtive-the rosy lip-the flushing cheek, were all affectionately recalled; and that artless look at parting, so silent and so eloquent-lingering and loving, as it stole from beneath her silken lashes, while the carriages were being separated. He sighed heavily; and how could he help it? The sigh was responded by a gentle suspiration. He glanced hastily at his solitary companion, and a lightning look from the blackest eyes in Coventry met his! She too, poor soul, was a sentimentalist. She had parted from her lover in a pet; and, God knows, that was enough to make any tender-hearted gentlewoman unhappy. Was it wonderful then, that two afflicted beings, tête-à-tête in a stage-coach, should approximate in their distresses? Would it be pardonable in an Irish major of foot to encourage solitary melancholy, with the prettiest corset-maker in Coventry to console and be consoled? Could my father emulate Saint Senanus of frigid memory, and he enfiladed by the fire of an eye,

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soft, floating, dark," which would have puzzled that holy man to have resisted? No-he did endeavour to solace his suffering companion— gradually Miss Minchin recovered her serenity; and when the Manchester Rocket stopped at the White Horse Cellar in Piccadilly, and the travellers departed in a hackney-coach, so tenderly did the gallant major enfold his fair friend in his military roquelaure, that the cad declared they were indubitably a newly-married couple, while the coachman averred upon his conscience, that the lady must be a runaway wife, because the Irish gentleman was so very

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attentive; and every one knew that they prefered anybody's to their own."

Whether it was that Miss Minchin's black eye operated as a counter-charm to Miss Harrison's blue one, I cannot say, but my father nearly managed to forget her; and yet circumstances did occasionally recall her to his memory. One morning, a nameless billet brought him a beautiful ringlet of light brown hair. Whose was it? It was puzzling, but he did not think the event worth the trouble of investi

gation. The truth was, the major was a ladykiller, billets doux were no novelties to him, and ringlets reached him by every post, as various in their colours as the tints of the rainbow.

His removal from his regiment also created a general sensation. He had an extensive military connection, and had been a favourite in the different towns where he had been quartered with his corps. Wildness, if the offender be well-looking, is a venial crime in woman's eyes; therefore the dashing major was considered a proper subject for female sympathy. Colonel Macleod was universally disliked, consequently Cæsar Blake was declared by his male acquaintances an injured man-and they resolved unanimously that it was a hard case to lose one's commission for stuffing an old maid's chimney with a wet horse-cloth. No wonder, then, that my father, commiserated by both sexes, bore his misfortunes bravely; and when he returned to his brother's at Castle Blake, and Connaught cousins to the third and fourth generation rose en masse to welcome him in genuine obsolete Irish hospitality, every regret