on the evenings of the two days which I would otherwise have used for Councils.  I am very loath to do this, from feeling that the Officers are the great need.  So far I have been delighted with what I have seen of the Officers in the country.  We ought to capture Holland.

     “The Governor has sent word to say that he is coming to see me this
     afternoon.

“I have had a long sleep, and I hope I shall be better for it.  The Governor has just come in.  He appears a very amiable person, very friendly disposed towards The Army.  We had a very nice conversation about matters in general, and at parting he expressed his kindest wishes for my future and for the future of The Army.

“I left at a few minutes before seven.  It has been snowing and raining, and freezing and thawing the last few hours, consequently the atmosphere is not very agreeable.  However, my carriage was well warmed, and we arrived at Assen in half an hour.

“A very nice hall—­packed with a very respectful audience.  I spoke on the old subject, ‘The Lesson of my Life,’ and made it ’better as new’ as the Jew says about his second-hand garments.  I was very pleased with it and the people were too.  I am entertained by Baron and Baroness Van der Velts.  The lady speaks English very nicely, and they are evidently very pleased to have me with them.

     “I was glad to settle to sleep about eleven, and thankful for the
     mercies of the day.”

It was thus that nearly three years passed away.  Then came at last the time when the long-hoped-for operation was to take place.

Rookstone, the house in Hadley Wood, a village on the northern outskirts of London, where The General died, stands almost at the foot of the garden of the present General, so that they could be constantly in touch when at home, and the General’s grandchildren greatly enjoyed his love for them.

But in the large three-windowed room, where his left eye was operated upon, and where a few months later he died, his Successor, his youngest daughter, Commissioner Howard, and his Private Secretary, Colonel Kitching, had many valued interviews with him during those last months.  I had not that opportunity until it was too late to speak to him, for he had said when it was suggested, full as he had been of the hope of prolonged life almost to the end, “Oh, yes, he’ll want to come and get something for my life and that will just finish me.”

Of the operaton itself we prefer to let the physician himself speak in the following extract from The Lancet of the 19th October, 1912: