and his regiment, and
declined. Life in India suited Master Ste. It provided him with a
great deal of real soldiering, much sport, and made him acquainted
with one of the most fascinating countries in the world. After he got
his troop, he became Brigade-Major to Sir Baker Russell's Cavalry
Brigade at Meerut Camp of Exercise, and was appointed Station
Staff-Officer and Cantonment Magistrate at Muttra. With all these
duties he found time for sketching and writing, publishing
_Reconnaissance and Scouting_, and sending many interesting sketches
to the _Graphic_. It may not be out of place here to mention that
Baden-Powell, among other parts, has played the War Correspondent,
working once in that character for the _Daily Chronicle_, and with
considerable success.

That Baden-Powell was a marked man early in his career is attested by
the fact of his being chosen as a member of the Board for formulating
Cavalry regulations at Simla in 1884. He was eminently a business-man,
a managing man, and all his work in the army has been marked by those
excellent qualities which go to the making of our great merchant
princes. He is shrewd, practical, and what he says is always to the
point. His despatches are admirable examples of what such documents
should be, never saying a word too much, and yet leaving his meaning
clear-cut and unmistakable. For such work he finds a model in the
despatch of Captain Walton, who, under Admiral Byng, destroyed the
entire Spanish fleet off Passaro: "Sir,--We have taken or destroyed all
the Spanish ships on this coast; number as per margin.--Respectfully
yours, G. Walton, _Captain_." Says Baden-Powell, "There is no
superfluous verbosity there."

But do not let us lose sight altogether of Baden-Powell as the
whimsical humourist. There are two stories in the regiment which
reveal him in this light very nicely. He was once walking with a
friend on the esplanade of some English seaside place, and the day was
piping hot. Suddenly, without explanation of any kind, B.-P. sat
himself down on the kerb, placed his billycock hat solemnly on his
knees, and buried his face in a flaming red handkerchief. This
unprecedented sight stirred the depths of the one and only policeman's
heart, and he strode valiantly across the road, prepared to do his
duty at all costs. Touching B.-P. upon the shoulder with his white
cotton glove, the constable demanded, in a deep voice, "Arnd, whaaet's
the matter wi' you, eh?" Slowly remo