likely to see much of it," said my father, dryly.

"Oh, you think he'll be in town then?"

"Why, not exactly that either."

"Then what can you mean?" said she, with more of animation than before.

"Simply, that his appointment is on the staff in Ireland."

"In Ireland!" repeated my mother, with a tragic start. "In Ireland!"

"In Ireland!" said Lady Julia, in a low, soft voice.

"_En Irlande!_" echoed the Count, with a look of well got up horror,
as he elevated his eyebrows to the very top of his forehead; while
I myself, to whom the communication was as sudden and as unexpected,
assumed a kind of soldier-like indifference, as though to say, "What
matters it to me? what do I care for the rigours of climate? the snows
of the Caucasus, or the suns of Bengal, are quite alike; even Ireland,
if his Majesty's service require it."

"Ireland!" repeated my mother once more; "I really never heard anything
so very shocking. But, my dear Jack, you can't think of it. Surely,
General, you had presence of mind to decline."

"To accept, and to thank most gratefully his Royal Highness for such
a mark of his favour, for this I had quite presence of mind," said my
father, somewhat haughtily.

"And you really will go, Jack?"

"Most decidedly," said I, as I put on a kind of Godefroy de Bouillon
look, and strutted about the room.

"And pray what can induce you to such a step?"

"_Oui, que diable allait-il faire dans cette galere?_'" said the Count.

"By Jove!" cried my father, hastily, "you are intolerable; you wished
your boy to be a Guardsman in opposition to my desire for a regiment on
service. You would have him an aide-de-camp: now he is both one and the
other. In Heaven's name, what think ye of getting him made a lady of the
bedchamber? for it's the only appointment I am aware of----"

"You are too absurd, General," said my mother, pettishly. "Count,
pray touch the bell; that fire is so very hot, and I really was quite
unprepared for this piece of news."

"And you, Julia," said I, leaning over the back of my cousin's chair,
"what do you say to all this?"

"I've just been thinking what a pity it is I should have wasted all
my skill and my worsted on this foolish rug, while I could have been
embroidering a gay banner for our young knight bound for the wars.
'_Partant pour la Syrie_,'" hummed she, half pensively, while I could
see a struggling effort to suppress a laugh. I turned indignantly
away, and walked towards the