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 of the elder ladies of the family, as he frequently does Lady Lillycraft, his hat is immediately in his hand, and it is enough to remind one of those courtly groups of ladies and gentlemen, in old prints of Windsor terrace, or Kensington garden.

He talks frequently about “the service,” and is fond of humming the old song,

  Why, soldiers, why,
  Should we be melancholy, boys? 
  Why, soldiers, why,
  Whose business ’t is to die!

I cannot discover, however, that the general has ever run any great risk of dying, excepting from an apoplexy or an indigestion.  He criticises all the battles on the continent, and discusses the merits of the commanders, but never fails to bring the conversation, ultimately, to Tippoo Saib and Seringapatam.  I am told that the general was a perfect champion at drawing-rooms, parades, and watering-places, during the late war, and was looked to with hope and confidence by many an old lady, when labouring under the terror of Buonaparte’s invasion.

He is thoroughly loyal, and attends punctually on levees when in town.  He has treasured up many remarkable sayings of the late king, particularly one which the king made to him on a field-day, complimenting him on the excellence of his horse.  He extols the whole royal family, but especially the present king, whom he pronounces the most perfect gentleman and best whist-player in Europe.  The general swears rather more than is the fashion of the present day; but it was the mode in the old school.  He is, however, very strict in religious matters, and a staunch churchman.  He repeats the responses very loudly in church, and is emphatical in praying for the king and royal family.

At table, his loyalty waxes very fervent with his second bottle, and the song of “God save the King” puts him into a perfect ecstasy.  He is amazingly well contented with the present state of things, and apt to get a little impatient at any talk about national ruin and agricultural distress.  He says he has travelled about the country as much as any man, and has met with nothing but prosperity; and to confess the truth, a great part of his time is spent in visiting from one country-seat to another, and riding about the parks of his friends.  “They talk of public distress,” said the general this day to me, at dinner, as he smacked a glass of rich burgundy, and cast his eyes about the ample board; “they talk of public distress, but where do we find it, sir?  I see none.  I see no reason why any one has to complain.  Take my word for it, sir, this talk about public distress is all humbug!”