h which
he would have followed the enemy, his compressed lip rarely opening for a
laugh when even the most ludicrous misadventure was enacting before him;
and when by chance he would give way, the short ha! ha! was over in a
moment, and the cold, stern features were as fixed and impassive as before.

All the excitement, all the enthusiasm of a hunting-field, seemed powerless
to turn his mind from the pre-occupation which the mighty interests he
presided over, exacted. I remember once an incident which, however trivial
in itself, is worth recording as illustrative of what I mean. We were going
along at a topping pace, the hounds, a few fields in advance, were hidden
from our view by a small beech copse. The party consisted of not more than
six persons, one of whom was Lord Wellington himself. Our run had been a
splendid one, and as we were pursuing the fox to earth, every man of us
pushed his horse to his full stride in the hot enthusiasm of such a moment.

"This way, my lord, this way," said Colonel Conyers, an old Melton man, who
led the way. "The hounds are in the valley; keep to the left." As no reply
was made, after a few moments' pause Conyers repeated his admonition, "You
are wrong, my lord, the hounds are hunting yonder."

"I know it!" was the brief answer given, with a shortness that almost
savored of asperity; for a second or two not a word was spoken.

"How far is Niza, Gordon?" inquired Lord Wellington.

"About five leagues, my lord," replied the astonished aide-de-camp.

"That's the direction, is it not?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Let's go over and inspect the wounded."

No more was said, and before a second was given for consideration, away
went his lordship, followed by his aide-de-camp, his pace the same
stretching gallop, and apparently feeling as much excitement, as he dashed
onwards towards the hospital, as though following in all the headlong
enthusiasm of a fox chase.

Thus passed our summer; a life of happy ease and recreation succeeding to
the harassing fatigues and severe privations of the preceding campaign.
Such are the lights and shadows of a soldier's life; such the checkered
surface of his fortunes. Constituting, by their very change, that buoyant
temperament, that happy indifference, which enables him to derive its full
enjoyment from each passing incident of his career.

While thus we indulged in all the fascinations of a life of pleasure, the
rigid discipline of the army was never for