"But," says I, "you might more surely keep the news from the rebels by arresting the adjutant."
"Thunder!" says the general, "I never thought of that before."
Great men, my boy, are never so great but that they can profit occasionally by a suggestion from the humblest of the species. I once knew a very great man who went home one night in a shower, and was horrified at discovering that he could not get his umbrella through the front door. He was a very great man, understood Sanscrit, made speeches that nobody could comprehend, and had relatives in Beacon-street, Boston. There he stood in the rain, my boy, pushing his umbrella this way and that way, turning it endways and sideways, holding it at acute angles and obtuse angles; but still it wouldn't go through the door, nor anything like it. By-and-by there came along a chap of humble attainments, who sung out:
"What's the matter, old three-and-sixpence?"
The great man turned pantingly round, and says he:
"Ah, my friend, I cannot get my umbrella into the house. I've been trying for half an hour to wedge it through the door, but I can't get it through and know not how to act."
The humble chap stood under a gas-light, my boy, and by the gleams thereof his mouth was observed to pucker loaferishly.
"Hev you tried the experiment of shutting up that air umbrella?" says he.
The great man gave a start, and says he:
"Per Jovem! I didn't think to do that."