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 leave you four honest weight carriers, and as sweet a pack as ever ran into a red rascal without a check.  Don’t be extravagant in my wake.”

Another interruption in the parting address.

“A fat heifer, half a dozen sheep, and the puncheon of Rasserea that’s in the cellar untouched, should do the thing genteelly.  It’s only a couple of nights you know, as you’ll sod me the third morning.  Considering that I stood two contests for the county, an action for false imprisonment by a gauger, never had a lock on the hall door, kept ten horses at rack and manger, and lived like a gentleman.  To the L5,000 for which my poor father dipped the estate I have only after all added L10,000 more, which, as Attorney Rowland said, showed that I was a capital manager.  Well, you can pay both off easily.”

Another fit of coughing distressed my grandfather sorely.

“Go to the waters—­any place in England will answer.  If you will stand tallow or tobacco, you can in a month or two wipe old scores off the slate.  Sir Roderick O’Boyl, when he was so hard pushed as to be driven over the bridge of Athlone in a coffin to avoid the coroner,[4] didn’t he, and in less than a twelvemonth too, bring over a sugar-baker’s daughter, pay off encumbrances, and live and die like a gentleman as he was every inch?  I have not much to leave you but some advice, Frank dear, and after I slip my girths remember what I say.  When you’re likely to get into trouble, always take the bull by the horns, and when you’re in for a stoup, never mix liquors or sit with your back to the fire.  If you’re obliged to go out, be sure to fight across the ridges, and if you can manage it, with the sun at your back.  Ugh! ugh! ugh!”