tle lieutenants, who
may be seen sauntering about Pall Mall, in high-heeled little boots, or
rallying round the standard of their regiment in the Palace Court, at
eleven o'clock, when the band plays. Did the beloved reader ever see
one of the young fellows staggering under the flag, or, above all, going
through the operation of saluting it? It is worth a walk to the Palace
to witness that magnificent piece of tomfoolery.

I have had the honour of meeting once or twice an old gentleman, whom I
look upon to be a specimen of army-training, and who has served in
crack regiments, or commanded them, all his life. I allude to
Lieutenant-General the Honourable Sir George Granby Tufto, K.C.B.,
K.T.S., K.H., K.S.W., &c. &c.. His manners are irreproachable generally;
in society he is a perfect gentleman, and a most thorough Snob.

A man can't help being a fool, be he ever so old, and Sir George is a
greater ass at sixty-eight than he was when he first entered the army at
fifteen. He distinguished himself everywhere: his name is mentioned
with praise in a score of Gazettes: he is the man, in fact, whose padded
breast, twinkling over with innumerable decorations, has already been
introduced to the reader. It is difficult to say what virtues this
prosperous gentleman possesses. He never read a book in his life, and,
with his purple, old gouty fingers, still writes a schoolboy hand. He
has reached old age and grey hairs without being the least venerable. He
dresses like an outrageously young man to the present moment, and laces
and pads his old carcass as if he were still handsome George Tufto of
1800. He is selfish, brutal, passionate, and a glutton. It is curious
to mark him at table, and see him heaving in his waistband, his little
bloodshot eyes gloating over his meal. He swears considerably in his
talk, and tells filthy garrison stories after dinner. On account of his
rank and his services, people pay the bestarred and betitled old brute
a sort of reverence; and he looks down upon you and me, and exhibits
his contempt for us, with a stupid and artless candour which is quite
amusing to watch. Perhaps, had he been bred to another profession, he
would not have been the disreputable old creature he now is. But what
other? He was fit for none; too incorrigibly idle and dull for any trade
but this, in which he has distinguished himself publicly as a good and
gallant officer, and privately for riding races, drinking port, fighting
duel