She will have no
troubles--Leech will take good care of that; her matrimonial tiffs
will be of the slightest; hers will be a well-regulated household; the
course of her conjugal love will run smooth in spite of her little
indiscretions--for, like Bluebeard's wife, she can be curious at
times, and coax and wheedle to know the mysteries of Freemasonry, and
cry because Edwin will not reveal the secret of Mr. Percy, the
horse-tamer; and how Edwin can resist such an appeal is more than we
can understand! But soon they will have a large family, and live happy
ever after, and by the time their eldest-born is thirteen years old,
the darling of fourteen years back will be a regular materfamilias,
stout, matronly, and rather severe; and Edwin will be fat, bald, and
middle-aged, and bring home a bundle of asparagus and a nice new
perambulator to celebrate the wedding-day!

And he loves her brothers and cousins, military or otherwise, just as
dearly, and makes them equally beautiful to the eye, with those lovely
drooping whiskers that used to fall and brush their bosoms, their
smartly waistcoated bosoms, a quarter of a century ago! He dresses
them even better than the darlings, and has none but the kindliest and
gentlest satire for their little vanities and conceits--for they have
no real vices, these charming youths, beyond smoking too much and
betting a little and getting gracefully tipsy at race-meetings and
Greenwich dinners--and sometimes running into debt with their tailors,
I suppose! And then how boldly they ride to hounds, and how splendidly
they fight in the Crimea! how lightly they dance at home! How healthy,
good-humoured, and manly they are, with all their vagaries of dress
and jewellery and accent! It is easy to forgive them if they give the
whole of their minds to their white neckties, or are dejected because
they have lost the little gridiron off their chatelaine, or lose all
presence of mind when a smut settles on their noses, and turn faint at
the sight of Mrs. Gamp's umbrella!

And next to these enviable beings he loves and reveres the sportsman.
One is made to feel that the true sportsman, whether he shoots or
hunts or fishes, is an August being, as he ought to be in Great
Britain, and Leech has done him full justice with his pencil. He is no
subject for flippant satire; so there he sits his horse, or stalks
through his turnip-field, or handles his rod like a god! Handsome,
well-appointed from top to toe, aris