ch man-of-war, narrow at top and wide at bottom, with
full rosy cheeks and a double chin; so that, to use the cant of the
day, his organs of eating may be said to be powerfully developed.

The general, though a veteran, has seen very little active service,
except the taking of Seringapatam, which forms an era in his history.
He wears a large emerald in his bosom, and a diamond on his finger,
which he got on that occasion, and whoever is unlucky enough to notice
either, is sure to involve himself in the whole history of the siege.
To judge from the general's conversation, the taking of Seringapatam
is the most important affair that has occurred for the last century.

On the approach of warlike times on the continent, he was rapidly
promoted to get him out of the way of younger officers of merit;
until, having been hoisted to the rank of general, he was quietly laid
on the shelf. Since that time, his campaigns have been principally
confined to watering-places; where he drinks the waters for a slight
touch of the liver which he got in India; and plays whist with old
dowagers, with whom he has flirted in his younger days. Indeed, he
talks of all the fine women of the last half century, and, according
to hints which he now and then drops, has enjoyed the particular
smiles of many of them.

He has seen considerable garrison duty, and can speak of almost every
place famous for good quarters, and where the inhabitants give good
dinners. He is a diner out of first-rate currency, when in town; being
invited to one place, because he has been seen at another. In the same
way he is invited about the country-seats, and can describe half the
seats in the kingdom, from actual observation; nor is any one better
versed in court gossip, and the pedigrees and intermarriages of the
nobility.

As the general is an old bachelor, and an old beau, and there are
several ladies at the Hall, especially his quondam flame Lady
Jocelyne, he is put rather upon his gallantry. He commonly passes some
time, therefore, at his toilette, and takes the field at a late hour
every morning, with his hair dressed out and powdered, and a rose in
his button-hole. After he has breakfasted, he walks up and down the
terrace in the sunshine, humming an air, and hemming between every
stave, carrying one hand behind his back, and with the other touching
his cane to the ground, and then raising it up to his shoulder. Should
he, in these morning promenades, meet any o