It was a lovely May evening when I left busy Portsmouth. The shadows of the tossing branches of the old limes and sycamores that bordered the wayside were cast far across the yellow corn; the white and purple lilacs, the golden laburnum trees, and the tall hollyhocks with their gorgeous crimson flowers, made beautiful the gravelled avenues that led to many a villa and farm, while the fertile uplands that sloped in distance far away, were half hidden in the warm haze of the summer sunset. I felt proud of my showy uniform, proud of my beautiful grey charger, and proud of the mission on which I was departing, though in the humble capacity of an orderly dragoon; and I was happy in the prospect of two days of perfect freedom from the routine and trammels of the camp, for a soldier, however young and enthusiastic, soon learns that he is no longer "the lord of his own proper person." My chain bridle and steel scabbard jangled in unison to the clank of my horse's hoofs, as he trotted rapidly along the level highway, and in my young heart swelled anew all the pride of being a soldier, a horseman, and an armed one. Within a week I should probably be treading the soil of hostile France, even as I was then treading the soil of peaceful and happy England. France! might I ever return from thence? Many of us were fated there to find our last home, and might I not be one of the doomed? I thrust aside the thought--not that I feared death, I was too young and too hopeful for that; but shrunk from the idea of perishing with the mass, before I had achieved what I conceived to be my mission; before I had won myself a right to bear with honour the name my forefathers had bequeathed to me, and before I had resumed that title, the diploma of which the miserable Nathan Wylie had sent in mockery to the private soldier! Night came on and the road grew dark and lonely; there was no light save that of the stars, which I saw reflected at times in the bosom of the Wye, and twelve tolled from the steeples of St. Mary and St. Nicholas, as I entered the quaint old market town of Guildford, and rode straight to the Red Lion, where I stabled my horse and ordered a relay for the morrow. A forty miles' ride gave me a good appetite; I supped and retired to bed, where I slept without a dream even of the future, for I was weary. The next day was far advanced before I set forth again; but I proceeded slower now, the hack furnished to me by the innkeeper proving very different in mettle from my fine grey charger. In short, the animal nearly broke down by the way, and though the distance between Guildford and the metropolis is only about thirty miles, evening closed in before I saw at a distance the vast and dusky dome of St. Paul's, rising in sombre grandeur from amid the yellow haze, formed by the smoke and by the myriad lights of London.