round a Canadian bride. It is the
common lot. Some of these take their wives with them around the world,
but many more retire from the service, buy farms, and practise love in
a cottage. Thus the fair and loyal Canadiennes are responsible for the
loss of many and many a gallant officer to her majesty's service.
Throughout these colonial stations there has been, and there will be, a
fearful depletion, among the numbers of these brave but too impressible
men. I make this statement solemnly, as a mournful fact. I have nothing
to say against it; and it is not for one who has had an experience like
mine to hint at a remedy. But to my story:

Every one who was in Quebec during the winter of 18--, if he went into
society at all, must have been struck by the appearance of a young
Bobtail officer, who was a joyous and a welcome guest at every house
where it was desirable to be. Tall, straight as an arrow, and
singularly well-proportioned, the picturesque costume of the 129th
Bobtails could add but little to the effect already produced by so
martial a figure. His face was whiskerless; his eyes gray; his
cheek-bones a little higher than the average; his hair auburn; his nose
not Grecian--or Roman--but still impressive: his air one of quiet dignity,
mingled with youthful joyance and mirthfulness. Try--O reader!--to
bring before you such a figure. Well--that's me.

Such was my exterior; what was my character? A few words will suffice
to explain:--bold, yet cautious; brave, yet tender; constant, yet
highly impressible; tenacious of affection, yet quick to kindle into
admiration at every new form of beauty; many times smitten, yet
surviving the wound; vanquished, yet rescued by that very
impressibility of temper--such was the man over whose singular
adventures you will shortly be called to smile or to weep.

Here is my card:

Lieut. Alexander Macrorie
129th Bobtails.

And now, my friend, having introduced you to myself, having shown you
my photograph, having explained my character, and handed you my card,
allow me to lead you to

CHAPTER II.

MY QUARTERS, WHERE YOU WILL BECOME ACQUAINTED WITH OLD JACK RANDOLPH,
MY MOST INTIMATE FRIEND, AND ONE WHO DIVIDES WITH ME THE HONOR OF BEING
THE HERO OF MY STORY.

I'll never forget the time. It was a day in April.

But an April day in Canada is a very different thing from an April day
in England. In England all Nature is robed in vivid green, the air is
balmy; and all