Those who know the present Lieutenant-General Sir George Tufto, K.C.B., and have seen him, as they may on most days in the season, padded and in stays, strutting down Pall Mall with a rickety swagger on his high-heeled lacquered boots, leering under the bonnets of passers-by, or riding a showy chestnut, and ogling broughams in the Parks--those who know the present Sir George Tufto would hardly recognise the daring Peninsular and Waterloo officer. He has thick curling brown hair and black eyebrows now, and his whiskers are of the deepest purple. He was light-haired and bald in 1815, and stouter in the person and in the limbs, which especially have shrunk very much of late. When he was about seventy years of age (he is now nearly eighty), his hair, which was very scarce and quite white, suddenly grew thick, and brown, and curly, and his whiskers and eyebrows took their present colour. Ill-natured people say that his chest is all wool, and that his hair, because it never grows, is a wig. Tom Tufto, with whose father he quarrelled ever so many years ago, declares that Mademoiselle de Jaisey, of the French theatre, pulled his grandpapa's hair off in the green-room; but Tom is notoriously spiteful and jealous; and the General's wig has nothing to do with our story.
One day, as some of our friends of the --th were sauntering in the flower-market of Brussels, having been to see the Hotel de Ville, which Mrs. Major O'Dowd declared was not near so large or handsome as her fawther's mansion of Glenmalony, an officer of rank, with an orderly behind him, rode up to the market, and descending from his horse, came amongst the flowers, and selected the very finest bouquet which money could buy. The beautiful bundle being tied up in a paper, the officer remounted, giving the nosegay into the charge of his military groom, who carried it with a grin, following his chief, who rode away in great state and self-satisfaction.

Those who know the present Lieutenant-General Sir George Tufto, K.C.B., and have seen him strutting down Pall Mall with a rickety swagger in his high-heeled boots, leering at the bonnets of passers-by - those who know the present Sir George Tufto would hardly recognise the daring Waterloo officer. In 1815 he was stout, light-haired and bald. When he was about seventy his scarce white hair suddenly grew thick and brown and curly, and his whiskers turned purple.
But one day back then, as some of our friends were sauntering in the flower-market of Brussels, an officer rode up; and descending from his horse, selected the very finest bouquet which money could buy. He remounted, giving the nosegay into the charge of his groom, and rode away in great state and self-satisfaction.
