The transition from one mode of life to another perfectly different has ever seemed to me a great trial of a man’s moral courage; besides that the fact of quitting for ever any thing, no matter how insignificant or valueless, is always attended with painful misgivings.  My bachelor life had its share of annoyances and disappointments, it is true; but, upon the whole it was a most happy one—­and now I was about to surrender it for ever, not yielding to the impulse of affection and love for one without whom life were valueless to me, but merely a recompense for the indulgence of that fatal habit I had contracted of pursuing with 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!

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?