talisman of success. We know that his officers found "the sight of
Wellington's long nose on a frosty morning worth another ten thousand
men" to them. Sir John French has cultivated neither a nose, nor a
frown, nor even a chin. How does he manage to be the idol of his men?
it may be asked. Simply and solely by being himself. Without any of
the meretricious arts of the personality-monger, he has impressed his
personality on the troops in a most memorable way. This is largely due
to the impression of quiet confidence which he always gives. You feel
you are safe with French. Nothing, you know, will ever upset the cool
sanity of his reasoning, the balanced decision of his judgments. This
impression of certainly is strengthened by the distinctly masterful
carriage of the man. His short, stocky figure, like General Grant's,
suggests that fatigue is unknown to him. This is indeed the case. The
story has often been told of how the General and his staff once
decided, after an exhausting day, to spend the night in a lonely farm
in South Africa. The house only boasted one bed, which was of course,
reserved for the General. But French insisted on a tired member of his
staff occupying the solitary mattress, and wrapping himself up in a
rug, went contentedly to sleep on the floor.

His mind is as tireless as his body. The operations round Colesberg
could only have been undertaken in their complicated entirety by a
General who did not know what mental fatigue meant. This physical and
mental fitness French has most carefully studied to preserve. At one
time, several years ago, he feared a tendency to avoirdupois, and
instantly undertook a stern but successful bulk-reducing regimen.
Apropos the regimen there is a story. Just before the present war, a
bulky package was one day delivered to him at his club. French opened
it negligently, expecting to discover the inevitable knick-knack of
doubtful utility. But this was not the usual gift. It was a package of