Meanwhile the eventful Friday has arrived which has promoted “Cousin Charlie” to the rank of manhood. The _Gazette_ of that day has announced the appointment of “Charles Kettering, Gentleman, to be Cornet in the 20th Lancers, vice Slack, who retires,” and the young one, who has been cultivating the down on his upper lip for months, in anticipation of this triumph, turns up those ends, of which there is scarcely enough to take hold, and revels in the consciousness that he is a boy no longer, but an officer, a cavalry officer, and a gentleman. Old Nobottle, whom the pupil has attached to himself as an imaginative boy often does a sober old gentleman, is of the same mind, and has confided to Mr. Hardingstone his opinion of Charlie, and the bright deeds he expects from him. “The lad has all the makings of a soldier, sir,” said the clergyman; “the cheerful spirits, the gallant bearing, the love of action, and the chivalrous vanity--half courageous, half coxcombical--which form the military character; and if he has a chance, he will distinguish himself. _If_ he has a chance, do I say? he’ll make himself a chance, sir; the boy is cut out for a recruit, and he’ll learn his drill and know his men, and keep his troop-accounts smarter than any of ’em.” Nobottle was waxing enthusiastic, as the old recollections stole over him, and he saw, in fancy, a certain young artillery officer, gay amongst the gayest, and brave amongst the bravest, consulted by his seniors for his science and professional knowledge, and thanked in general orders for “his distinguished gallantry” in more than one decisive action. How different from the slouching, slovenly old man, in yesterday’s white neckcloth, who may now be seen budding his roses, poking about his parish, and stuffing stupid young gentlemen with as much learning as shall enable them to pass their dreaded examinations. Poor old Nobottle, you _would_ marry for love, you _would_ sacrifice your profession and your commission, your prospects and your all, for the red-nosed lady, then, to do her justice, a very pretty girl, who now occupies the top of your table. Like Antony, you were “all for love and the world well lost,” and, after a time, you found that the exchange was against you: what you took for gold turned out to be dross,--that which was honey in the mouth became bitter as gall in the digestion; in short, you discovered Mrs. N. was a failure, and that you did not care two pins for each other. Then came poverty and recrimination and the gnawing remorse of chances thrown away, that could not possibly recur again. Fortunately for you, a classical education and Church interest enabled you to take orders and get a living, so you work on, contentedly enough, now that your sensations are deadened and yourself half torpid; and although, when your better feelings obtain the mastery, you cannot but acknowledge the superiority of the present warfare in which you are engaged over that