I confess that a thrill of considerable exultation pervaded my frame, as I beheld one morning on my dressing-table a parcel which conscience whispered to me contained the masterpiece of Buckmaster. With palpitating hand I cut the cord, undid the brown paper foldings, and feasted my eyes in a trance of ecstasy upon the pantaloons, all gorgeous with the red stripe; upon the jacket glittering with its galaxy of buttons, and the polished glory of the shoulder-scales. Not hurriedly, but with a protracted sense of keen enjoyment, I cased myself in the military shell, slung on the pouch-belt, buckled the sabre, and finally adjusted the magnificent helmet on my brows. I looked into the mirror, and scarcely could recognise the counterpart of Mars which confronted me. "'Od's scimitars!" cried I, unsheathing my Bilboa, and dealing, with a reckless disregard to expense, a terrific cut at the bed-post--"Let me catch any fellow saying that the yeomanry is not a constitutional force!" And so I strode into the breakfast-room, where my old housekeeper was adjusting the materials for the matutinal meal. "Lord save us a'!" cried Nelly, dropping in her astonishment a platter of finnans upon the floor--"Lord save us a', and keep us frae the sin o' bluid-shed! Dear-a-me, Maister George, can that really be you! Hae ye turned offisher, and are ye gaun oot to fecht!" "To be sure, Nelly. I have joined the yeomanry, and we shall turn out next week. How do you like the uniform?" "Dinna speak to me o' unicorns! I'm auld enough to mind the days o' that bluidy murderin' villain Bonyparty, wha was loot loose upon huz, as a scourge and a tribulation for the backslidings o' a sinfu' land: and, wae's me! mony a mither that parted frae her son, maybe as bonny, or a hantle bonnier than yoursel', had sair een, and a broken heart, when she heard that her laddie was streekit cauld and stiff on the weary field o' Waterloo! Na--for gudeness sake, dinna draw yer swurd or I'll swarff! O, pit it aff--pit it aff, Maister George--There's a dear bairn, bide at hame, and dinna gang ye a sodgerin'! Think o' the mither that lo'es ye, forbye yer twa aunties. Wad ye bring doun their hairs--I canna ca' them a' grey, for Miss Kirsty's is as red as a lobster--in sorrow to the grave?" "Why, you old fool, what are you thinking of? We are not going out to fight--merely for exercise." "Waur and waur! Can ye no tak' yer yexerceese at hame, or doun at the Links wi' golf, or gang awa' to the fishin'? Wadna that be better than stravagin' through the streets, wi' a lang swurd harlin' ahint ye, and consortin' wi' deboshed dragoons, and drinkin' the haill nicht, and rinnin' wud after the lasses? And if ye're no gaun out to fecht, what's the use o' ye? Are ye gaun to turn anither Claverse, and burn and hang puir folk like the wicked and bluid-thirsty troopers lang syne? Yexerceese indeed! I wonder, Maister George, ye're no just ashamed o' yoursel'!"