This gentleman was a prime favourite with my Aunt Gainor, although they had but one opinion in common, and fought and scratched like the far-famed Irish cats. I think, too, the doctor liked your humble servant, chiefly because I admired and reverenced him for his learning and his unflinching love of his country. At this time we lay about Morristown in New Jersey. There was to be a great ball on the night of the doctor’s arrival. And just now, when his delicate features appeared at the door of our hut, Jack and I--for Jack was with me for a day--had used the last of our flour to powder our hair, and Jack was carefully tying my queue. “Good-evening, Master Hugh, and you, John Warder. Can I have a bite?” We gave a shout of welcome, and offered him a herring--very dried it was--and one of Master Baker Ludwick’s hard biscuits. He said we were luxurious scamps with our powder, until we explained it to be the end of a rather mouldy bag of meal. He thought powdering a fine custom for young doctors, for it gave them a look of gray hair and wisdom; and he was, as usual, amusing, cynical, and at times bitter. When we were seated and had his leave for a pipe, he told us there was now constant good news from the South, and that General Greene seemed to be somehow doing well, losing fights and winning strategetic victories. Probably it was more by luck than genius. By and by Gates would be heard from, and then we should see. On which my naughty Jack winked at me through the fog of his pipe smoke. “And why,” said the doctor, “does your general keep so quiet? Was an army made to sit still?” I could not but remind him that the only lucky winter campaign of the war had been made by his Excellency, and that it was not usually possible to fight in the cold season; not even Marlborough could do that. I was most respectful, you may be sure. He assured me that our general would never end the war; for in revolutions it was not they who began them who ever did bring them to auspicious conclusions. Our general, the doctor went on to tell us, was a weak man, and soon all would be of this opinion. As he spoke I saw Hamilton in the doorway, and I made haste to present him to the doctor. The young aide said modestly that he must venture to differ as to our chief. He was a man dull in talk, not entertaining, given to cautious silence, but surely not weak, only slow in judgment, although most decisive in action. “No great soldier, sir,” said the doctor, “and never will be.” “He is learning the business, like the rest of us, Dr. Rush. ‘T is a hard school, sir, but it is character that wins at last; may I venture to say this man has character, and can restrain both his tongue and his own nature, which is quick to wrath.” “Nonsense!” cried the doctor. “The whole country is discontented. We should elect a commander-in-chief once a year.” In fact, many were of this strange opinion. Hamilton smiled, but made no reply.