would get her married before morning. That,
of course, was impossible, unless the officiating
clergyman desired to be transported. I traced
out a portion of this young lady's history, and
found that the intended bridegroom was suffering
under temporary insanity. Within a few hours
he was under the guardianship of his friends.
When a regiment is ordered out to India, we
have a rush of marriages; on one Sunday, last
year, the list of banns occupied several minutes
in reading. In India, the wives permitted to
go with the regiment are valuable auxiliaries to
the husband. They are cared for by the officer's
ladies; they are well paid as laundresses,
cooks, or attendants. They earn more money
than the soldiers, and, if thrifty and well conducted,
may be really comfortable. For three
weeks or a fortnight before the departure of
the regiment, the parish clerk is busy preparing
notices for banns or licenses. The cost
of a common soldier's license is now reduced
to five shillings and sixpence; but this fee goes
to the registrar of the diocese, not to the clergyman.
The church fees are an additional charge.
The marriage by banns is consequently cheaper
by five shillings and sixpence to the common
soldier, and by sixteen shillings and sixpence to
the corporal and higher officers. There is a
search made for a Saint's day in the calendar as
the time of departure approaches. If there be
a church festival in the week, the parties can
be "called" and married within nine days.
Experience proves that the marriage law should
be relaxed in the case of soldiers ordered on
foreign service, who have obtained "leave" to
marry. It is a question whether a commanding
officer can legally marry on shipboard when there
is no chaplain in the vessel. Colonels and
majors, however, have thus performed the wedding
ceremony on emergency. If commanding
officers have this privilege, why should not
clergymen also possess it, and be allowed to marry
in such cases on three days' notice? Some very
distressing and painful incidents prove that a
modification of the marriage law is desirable in
this respect. No Protestant clergyman can celebrate
a marriage after twelve o'clock in the day;
the Roman Catholic priest can marry when and
where he pleases. It has frequently happened
that on the very day appointed for the wedding,
a review, or grand parade, or extraordinary
guard is ordered. When this is the case, the
soldier cannot reach the church in time. The
whole party is disappointed, and the marriage
deferred. I have waited at the church on five
several days for a bridegroom who was detained
"on duty," and the misery of the
intended bride was inconceivable. What magic
is there in the hour of twelve o'clock? Should
not a marriage celebrated at the hour of one, two,
or three, in the afternoon be as legitimate as
one celebrated before twelve? I fear my clerk's
watch is sometimes not quite up to time—no one
thinks of looking at the dial in the church
tower—and I fancy that many a marriage would
have been celebrated not witnin canonical hours,
if our parish watches were always regulated by
the time-ball at Greenwich.

A sergeant's, especially a colour-sergeant's,
wedding, is often a grand affair. I married a
beautiful young girl, recently, to a fine stalwart
fellow, who had seen much service, and who has
a claim upon the Kirwee prize money, should it
be fully distributed during his life. The bride
was dressed for the occasion by the officers'
ladies of her father's regiment. He was a bronzed
old soldier, and had his left breast covered with
medals. The bride was attended to the altar
by six bridesmaids, attired alike. This wedding
was remarkable in a parish celebrated for its
marriages. There are not many like it. Often
only the pair who are to walk together through
life, appear before the chancel rails, and the
sexton and clerk must be the attesting witnesses. I
have frequently regretted my inability to dissuade
girls from marrying soldiers "without leave,"
but they will persist in entertaining a confident
hope that they will be taken  "on the strength"
very soon. The wives, in these cases, are not
recognised by the officers' ladies or by the
regiment. They must rent a room or share a
lodging with four or five others, who may be
reputable characters or the reverse. The
husband can visit his wife only by "starts," and
she is wholly unprotected at night. What can
a private save, even from his increased pay, to
enable him to support a wife without some as-
sistance from the state? As long as her little
savings last, her position is tolerable; when
those are exhausted, she tries—steadily and
laboriously tries—to earn something by needlework,
by weeding or binding in the fields, or by
selling fruit and vegetables. But it is a hard
life at best, and exposed to wrong and sore
temptation. How often has my interference
been entreated by some young weeping wife
whose husband has committed a trifling breach
of military discipline, and is removed far from
her for many days! But when the regiment to
which her husband belongs, has got the route,
then comes the real misery. She is not on
the strength. She must be left behind, perhaps
with a baby at her breast, and another at her
knees. It is almost as bad as death, a separation
now; but she will be with him to the last
upon his way. You may see them, women of
all ages, tramping by the flanks of the marching
regiment. One hand of the soldier is in his
wife's, the other holds his musket; the sergeant,
kindly, never minds, and martinets are
for once short-sighted. The band plays cheerily
"The girl we left behind us," until the ship
receives its living freight, and the women
wretchedly pace the pier—a mournful company.
Still there is a struggle: they work, and work
incessantly. They live on next to nothing.
They scrape and save, in a manner all but
incredible. Many of them in some way—I never
can ascertain how—find means to join their
husbands abroad. I have known them to make
their way to Gibraltar, Malta, India, apparently
without means. A few of those who are
left, return to their parents or their friends.
They may be received, for their manual services
are valuable; at the worst, there is the
poor-house. But some hover about the precincts