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skill in quotation attributed to the devil. There is, however, no humbug about the girl herself. She confesses that church would bore her to death, if it were not for looking out for new bonnets. She is rather out of spirits, poor thing, as might be expected, but I trust you will speedily console her. I have given her a lock of my hair, so you had better try some other souvenir when you go away. Our head quarters will get on pretty well at Cork, but I am booked for a diabolical hole called Dunmanway, further to the south-west. I do not believe it is on any of the maps. I wish you good luck among the Ballymaccrocodile white muslin. Adieu.


“P.S. Write and let me know how you like Ellen.

"N.B. The best cigars are at O'Geogha


Having deposited my last love affair in the hands of the first turnpike keeper as we marched out of Dublin, which is a way we have in the army, I of course began adoring Ellen O'Reilly in advance from the moment that I received the above document, or deed of transfer, vesting the property in her in me upon my arrival at Ballykillcronaghan, the village where we halted the night before we were to march into the flourishing market town of Ballymaccrocodile, where, as the reader will have conjectured, the gallant 120th, of which I was then one of the greatest ornaments, was about to be quartered.

I was the flash man of the 120th, or Camberwell Rangers, a regiment too well known to need any farther description on my part; indeed, an impertinent Quaker at Norwich once went so far as to say, that we were better known than trusted in that flourishing city, but that was a drab-coloured calumny; and as the reader is probably an ignorant civilian, and, very likely, a sensitive and inquisitive female, and the subject is an interesting one, I shall give a slight sketch of the qualities which commonly go to the composition of the flash man of a regiment, the “ Mars, Bacchus, Apollo virorum,” who are arrayed in scarlet and gold, as described in the Latin grammar, to encourage sucking Cæsars to aspire to that glorious distinction, an appointment the patronage of which is not in the Horse Guards.

Indeed, I believe, the dignitary in question commonly elects himself, and then appoints his subordinates, though I, of course, was raised to the pinnacle of 120th greatness two days after my joining the regiment, as a lieutenant, with a dog-cart and a couple of private grooms, "mighty nate young men,” as Major O'Flaherty's leedy called them, on the occasion of her borrowing one of them


to drive her jaunting-car one day, when the major's batman was in the guard-house and remarkably drunk, and she wanted to drive down to the town to purchase some tea and sugar, and senna.

The flash man, then, is a something between a foreign secretary and a turkey cock; that is to say, he embodies in his own person all the pretensions of the corps, whilst he conducts much of its relations with the exterior world; goes with the colonel to call upon the mayor when they march into a town, and does the light work pertaining to that dismal formality; sits next to non-military strangers when they dine at mess, and furnishes conversation suitable to their capacities and stations in life-a duty which might possibly prove somewhat embarrassing to most of his brother officers. He generally contrives to get into society wherever they are quartered, and introduces a few of the most presentable and submissive of his followers to the ‘nicest girls,' (with the amount of whose 'tin,'as he calls it, he generally makes himself acquainted.) He dresses very well (or awfully badly if he goes for eccentric,) and rides a washy thorough-bred, price £30, with those nice thin long legs that young ladies admire so—a sort of sketch of a horse, with the neck of an ostrich, and the tail of a comet, and no body worth mentioning, that will neither race, hunt, nor draw, but will eat out of the hand and carry a lady. He rides in remarkably long stirrups, and prefers a canter to a trot. He is indignant at the idea of getting a fall, is brilliant in his gloves, flashy in his neckcloth; he pinches in his waist, and shines in his boots.

He is generally president of the mess committee, and considered a very tolerable judge of the full-bodied, high-flavoured, curious old military port, with which, when the glasses sparkle on the board, and the wine is ruby bright, the social spirit of the gayer

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