besides being incorrigibly duelsome on his own account,
he is, for others, the most acute and peaceable counsellor in the world,
and has carried more friends through scrapes and prevented more deaths
than any member of the Humane Society. British never bought a single
step in the army, as is well known. In '14 he killed a celebrated French
fire-eater, who had slain a young friend of his, and living, as he
does, a great deal with young men of pleasure, and good old sober family
people, he is loved by them both and has as welcome a place made for
him at a roaring bachelor's supper at the "Cafe Anglais," as at a staid
dowager's dinner-table in the Faubourg St. Honore. Such pleasant old
boys are very profitable acquaintances, let me tell you; and lucky is
the young man who has one or two such friends in his list.

Hurrying on Fogson in his dress, I conducted him, panting, up to the
Major's quatrieme, where we were cheerfully bidden to come in. The
little gentleman was in his travelling jacket, and occupied in
painting, elegantly, one of those natty pairs of boots in which he daily
promenaded the Boulevards. A couple of pairs of tough buff gloves had
been undergoing some pipe-claying operation under his hands; no man
stepped out so spick and span, with a hat so nicely brushed, with a
stiff cravat tied so neatly under a fat little red face, with a blue
frock-coat so scrupulously fitted to a punchy little person, as Major
British, about whom we have written these two pages. He stared rather
hardly at my companion, but gave me a kind shake of the hand, and we
proceeded at once to business. "Major British," said I, "we want your
advice in regard to an unpleasant affair which has just occurred to my
friend Pogson."

"Pogson, take a chair."

"You must know, sir, that Mr. Pogson, coming from Calais the other day,
encountered, in the diligence, a very handsome woman."

British winked at Pogson, who, wretched as he was, could not help
feeling pleased.

"Mr. Pogson was not more pleased with this lovely creature than was she
with him; for, it appears, she gave him her card, invited him to her
house, where he has been constantly, and has been received with much
kindness."

"I see," says British.

"Her husband the Baron--"

"NOW it's coming," said the Major, with a grin: "her husband is jealous,
I suppose, and there is a talk of the Bois de Boulogne: my dear sir, you
can't refuse--can't refuse."

"It's not that," said Pogson,