England is likely on some future day to join in
the fighting. Some of the papers say one
thing, and some say the other. If England
is not likely to join in the fighting, then I
have nothing more to write about. But, if the
chances are all the other way, and if we catch the
war-fever in our turn, then what I want to know
(with many apologies for asking the question)
is, whether my next door neighbour, Major
Namby, will be taken from his home by the
Horse Guards, and presented with his fit post
of command in the English army. It will come
out, sooner or later; so there is no harm in
my acknowledging at once, that it would add
immeasurably to my comfort and happiness
if the gallant major were ordered off on any
service which, would take him away from his
own house.

I am really very sorry, but I must leave off
beginning already, and go back again to the part
before the beginning (if there is such a thing),
in order to explain the nature of my objection
to Major Namby, and why it would be such a
great relief to me (supposing we are unfortunate
enough to be dragged into this dreadful
war), if he happened to be one of the first
officers called out for the service of his Queen
and country.

I live in the suburbs, and I have bought my
house. The major lives in the suburbs, next
door to me, and he has bought his house. I
don't object to this, of course. I merely
mention it to make things straight.

Major Namby has been twice married. His
first wife—dear, dear! how can I express it?
Shall I say, with vulgar abruptness, that his
first wife had a family? And must I descend
into particulars, and add that they are four in
number, and that two of them are twins? Well,
the words are written; and if they will do over
again for the same purpose, I beg to repeat
them in reference to the second Mrs. Namby
(still alive), who has also had a family, and
is——no, I really cannot say, is likely to go
on having one. There are certain limits, in a
case of this kind, and I think I have reached
them. Permit me simply to state that the
second Mrs. Namby has three children, at
present. These, with the first Mrs. Namby's four,
make a total of seven. The seven are
composed of five girls and two boys. And the first
Mrs. Namby's family all have one particular
kind of constitution, and the second Mrs.
Namby's family all have another particular kind
of constitution. Let me explain once more that
I merely mention these little matters, and that
I don't object to them.

Now pray be patient: I am coming fast to
the point—I am indeed. But please let me say
a little word or two about Major Namby himself.
In the first place, I have looked out his name in
the Army List, and I cannot find that he was
ever engaged in battle anywhere. He appears
to have entered the army, most unfortunately for
his own renown, just after, instead of just before,
the battle of Waterloo. He has been at all sorts
of foreign stations, at the very time, in each
case, when there was no military work to do—
except once at some West Indian Island, where
he seems to have assisted in putting down a few
poor unfortunate negroes who tried to get up a
riot. This is the only active service that he has
ever performed: so I suppose it is all owing to his
being well off and to those dreadful abuses of
ours that he has been made a major for not
having done a major's work. So far as looks
go, however, he is military enough in appearance
to take the command of the British army at five
minutes' notice. He is very tall and upright,
and carries a martial cane, and wears short
martial whiskers, and has an awfully loud
martial voice. His face is very pink, and his eyes
are extremely round and staring, and he has
that singularly disagreeable-looking roll of fat
red flesh at the back of his neck, between the
bottom of his short grey hair and the top of his
stiff black stock, which seems to be peculiar to
all hearty old officers who are remarkably well
to do in the world. He is certainly not more
than sixty years of age; and, if a lady may
presume to judge of such a thing, I should say
decidedly that he had an immense amount of
undeveloped energy still left in him, at the service of
the Horse Guards.

This undeveloped energy—and here, at length,
I come to the point—not having any employment
in the right direction, has run wild in the
wrong direction, and has driven the major to
devote the whole of his otherwise idle time to
his domestic affairs. He manages his children
instead of his regiment, and establishes discipline
in the servants'-hall instead of in the barrack-
yard. Have I any right to object to this? None
whatever, I readily admit. I may hear (most
unwillingly) that Major Namby has upset the
house by going into the kitchen and objecting
to the smartness of the servants' caps; but as I
am not, thank Heaven, one of those unfortunate
servants, I am not called on to express my
opinion of such unmanly meddling, much as I
scorn it. I may be informed (entirely against
my own will) that Mrs. Namby's husband has
dared to regulate, not only the size and substance,
but even the number, of certain lower and inner
articles of Mrs. Namby's dress, which no earthly
consideration will induce me particularly to
describe; but as I do not (I thank Heaven
again) occupy the degraded position of the
major's wife, I am not justified in expressing
my indignation at domestic prying and
pettifogging, though I feel it all over me, at this very
moment, from head to foot. What Major Namby
does and says, inside his own house, is his
business and not mine. But what he does and says
outside his own house, on the gravel walk of his
front garden, under my own eyes and close to
my own ears, as I sit at work at the window is
as much my affair as the major's, and more, for
it is I who suffer by it.

Pardon me a momentary pause for relief, a
momentary thrill of self-congratulation. I have
got to my grievance at last—I have taken the
right literary turning at the end of the preceding
paragraph; and the fair, straight high-road