Those days were the good old days of true virtue! When a bishop who had daughters to marry, would advance a deserving young curate to a good living, and, not content with that manifestation of his regard, would give him one of his own children for a wife! Those were the days when, the country being in danger, fathers were willing to sacrifice, not only their sons, but their daughters on the altar of patriotism! Do you doubt it?—unbelieving and selfish creatures of these degenerate times! Listen! A certain father waited upon the Irish Secretary, one fine morning, and in that peculiar strain which secretaries of state must be pretty well used to, descanted at some length on the devotion he had always shown to the government, and yet they had given him no proof of their confidence. The Secretary declared they had the highest sense of his merits, and that they had given him their entire confidence.
"But you have given me nothing else, my lord," was the answer.
"My dear sir, of late we have not had any proof of sufficient weight in our gift to convince you."
"Oh, I beg your pardon, my lord; there's a majority of the —— dragoons vacant."
"Very true, my dear sir; and if you had a child to devote to the service of your country, no one should have the majority sooner."
"Thank you, my lord," said the worthy man with a low bow; "then I have a child."
"Bless me, sir! I never heard you had a son."
"No, my lord, but I have a daughter."
"A daughter!" said my Lord Secretary, with a look of surprise; "but you forget, sir—this is a regiment—a dragoon regiment."
"Oh, she rides elegant," said her father.