ich, _rebut egenis_, had been laid down, and the colonel, in
his "mind's eye," and oblivious of cloth shoes, once more was up to
his knees in leather,[2] and taking everything in the shape of fence
and brook, just as the Lord pleased to dispose them.

A cellar census was next decided on, and by a stout exertion, and at
the same time with a heavy heart, my father hobbled down the stone
steps and entered an underground repertorium, which once he took
much pride in visiting. Alas! its glory had departed; the empty bins
were richly fringed with cobwebbed tapestries, and silently admitted
a non-occupancy by bottles for past years. The colonel sighed. He
remembered his grandfather's parting benediction. Almost in infancy,
malignant fever within one brief week had deprived him of both
parents, and a chasm in direct succession was thus created. A summons
from school was unexpectedly received, and although the young heir and
the courier borrowed liberally from the night, it was past cock-crow
when they reached their destination.

The old gentleman was "in articulo," or as sailors would say, he was
already "hove short," and ready to trip his anchor.

"Up stairs, master Frank," exclaimed the old butler to my father, "the
general will be in heaven in half an hour, glory to the Virgin!"

I shall never forget my fathers description of the parting scene.
Propped by half a dozen pillows, the old man gasped hard for breath,
but the appearance of his grandson appeared to rouse the dormant
functions of both mind and body; and although there were considerable
breaks between each sentence, he thus delivered his valedictory
advice. Often has the departure of Commodore Trunnion been recalled to
memory by the demise of my honored relative.

"Frank," said the old fox-hunter to my father, "the summons is come,
as we used to say when I was a dragoon, to 'boot and saddle.' I told
the doctor a month ago that my wind was touched, but he would have it
that I was only a whistler."

He paused for breath.

"The best horse that ever bore pig-skin on his back, won't stand too
many calls--ugh! ugh! ugh!"

Another pause.

"I bless God that my conscience is tolerably clean. Widow or orphan I
never wronged intentionally, and the heaviest item booked against me
overhead is Dick Sommer's death. Well, he threw a decanter, as was
proved upon the trial to the satisfaction of judge and jury; and you
know, after that, nothing but the daisy[3] would do. I