and misgivings. It was a tremendous step; he had never done it before; though often on the brink, he had always drawn back in time, and yet many of his old friends had got through it. Mulligatawney had married a widow--by the by, was Mrs. Delaval a widow? he never thought of asking--perhaps her husband was alive! At any rate this state of uncertainty was not to be borne, and after consulting one or two of his old cronies, and getting their opinions, he would take some decided step--that he would--ask the question, and stand the shot like a man. The General agreed with Montrose-- “He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, Who dares not put it to the touch, To win or lose it all.” In pursuance of this doughty resolution, our veteran warrior took advantage of his niece’s long _tête-à-tête_ with Major D’Orville to drop behind on the black cob, and sound his two old friends, Mulligatawney of the Civil Service, and Sir Bloomer Buttercup of no service at all, save that of the ladies, on the important step which he meditated taking. “Lonely place, London,” said the General, reining in the cob, and settling himself into what he considered a becoming attitude, “at least for a bachelor. No solitude like that of a crowd.--What?” “Better be alone than bothered to death by women,” growled Mulligatawney, a thin, withered, sour-looking individual, with a long yellow face. “I _like_ London, _en garçon_, only Mrs. Mulligatawney always _will_ come up whenever I do. Egad, you bachelors don’t know when you’re well off.”