amidst the shouts
of the company. "It's the old 'flying mare' my boy," said the General
to me, "a very useful dodge. I learnt it fifty years ago."

In the company of young men the General is at his very best. He knows
all their little weaknesses, and chaffs them with delightful point and
humour, though he would not, for all the world, give them pain. It
is a pleasant sight to see the old fellow with a party of his young
friends, poking sly fun at them, laughing with them, taking all their
jests in good part, and thoroughly enjoying himself. He can walk most
of them off their legs still, can row with them on the broad reaches
of the Thames, and keep his form with the best of them; he can hold
his gun straight at driven birds, and revel like a boy in a rattling
run to hounds across country. All the youngsters respect him by
instinct, and love the cheery old fellow, whose heart is as soft as
his muscles are hard. They talk to him as to an elder brother, come to
him for his advice, and, which is perhaps even more strange, like it,
and follow it. Withal, the General is the most modest of men. In his
youth he was a mighty man of war. It was only the other day that I
heard (not from his own lips, you may be sure) the thrilling stories
of his hand-to-hand conflict with two gigantic Russians in the fog of
Inkermann, and of his rescue of a wounded Sergeant at the attack in
the Redan. With women, old or young, the General uses an old-fashioned
and chivalrous courtesy, as far removed from latter-day smartness as
was BAYARD from BOULANGER. The younger ones adore him. They all seem
to be his nieces, for they all call him Uncle JOHN.

A year or two ago the General fell ill, and the doctors shook their
heads. It was touching to see the concern of all his young friends.
CHARLIE CHIRPER, a gay little butterfly of a fellow, who never seemed
to treat life as anything but a huge joke, became gloomy with anxiety.
Twice every day he called to make inquiries, and, as the bulletins
got worse, CHARLIE became visibly thinner. I saw him at the Club one
evening, sitting moodily in a corner. "What's up, CHARLIE?" I said
to him. "You look as if you'd been refused by an heiress." "The Old
General's worse to-day," said CHARLIE, simply. "They're very anxious
about him. No, dash it all!" he went on, "it's too bad. I can't bear
to think of it. Such an old ripper as the General! Why must they take
him? Why can't they take a useless chap like me, who neve