tint as those of a gipsy, and dressed in plain coarse blue clothes. He
was presented to me as a man who had grown from boyhood to manhood to
the tune of the whistling bullets of Kara Georg and his Turkish
opponents. After the usual salutations, the Natchalnik began--

"We have heard that Gospody Wellington has received from the English
nation an estate for his distinguished services."

_Author_. "That is true; but the presentation took place a great many
years ago."

_Natch_. "What is the age of Gospody Wellington?"

_Author_. "About seventy-five. He was born in 1769, the year in which
Napoleon and Mohammed Ali first saw the light."

This seemed to awaken the interest of the party.

The roughly-clad trooper drew in his chair, and leaning his elbow on
his knees, opened wide a pair of expectant eyes; the Natchalnik, after
a long puff of his pipe, said, with some magisterial decision, "That
was a moment when nature had her sleeves tucked up. I think our Kara
Georg must also have been born about that time."

_Natch_. "Is Gospody Wellington still in service?"

_Author_. "Yes; he is commander-in-chief."

_Natch_. "Well, God grant that his sons, and his sons' sons, may
render as great services to the nation."