There was no boom of cannon to halt the dance. There was no opening roar of battle that broke in upon the revelry. The Duke of Wellington sat down comfortably to the table where the midnight supper was served, and the officers remained at the ball hours later. Then, as they had been ordered, they withdrew quietly, one by one, and finally the Duke came to make his own adieus. The youngest daughter of the Duchess of Richmond was awakened and brought down to the ball-room. With her tiny fingers she buckled on the great soldier’s sword. Do we not all of us recall how Major Dobbin seeks out Captain George, who has been madly gaming and madly drinking? “‘Hullo, Dob! Come and drink, old Dob! The Duke’s wine is famous.’ “‘Come out, George,’ said Dobbin gravely. ‘Don’t drink.’ “Dobbin went up to him and whispered something to him, at which George, giving a start and a wild hurray, tossed off his glass, clapped it on the table, and walked away speedily on his friend’s arm.” What Dobbin said was this: “The enemy has crossed the Sambre: our left is already engaged. Come away. We are to march in three hours.” “And there was mounting in hot haste; the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star, While throng’d the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips--‘The foe! They come, they come!’” Again, Thackeray: “The sun was just rising as the march began--it was a gallant sight--the band led the column, playing the regimental march; then came the major in command, riding upon Pyramus, his stout charger; then marched the grenadiers, their captain at their head; in the center were the colors, borne by the senior and junior ensigns; then George came marching at the head of his company. He looked up, and smiled at Amelia, and passed on; and even the sound of music died away.” And Amelia and thousands of other wives go back to wait, to weep, to pray. How hard it is to believe that after the officers had hurried away to join their commands, after the Duke of Wellington had left, after every young man and young woman in the ball-room _knew_ that their late partners were hastening to the battlefield, _the ball should continue_. Instead of being broken up by the booming cannon and the agonizing leavetakings imagined by Lord Byron, the revel went on till morning, when it ended in the usual way. * * * * *