forgets to make occasional use of his goad, and thus keeping pace with
the loitering bullocks, they go leisurely along. Let them pass on, and
wait for better game.

Turn and look at this cavalcade toiling up toward you. A sudden bend
in the road has brought it into view, and its aspect, half native,
half foreign--its mixed civil and military character--attract
attention. Two mounted orderlies, in a British uniform, lead the way,
and are followed by a clumsy Lisbon coach, every part of it well laden
with luggage. It is drawn by four noble mules, such as are seldom seen
out of the peninsula, deserving more stylish postillions than those
who, in ragged jackets, greasy leathern breeches and huge jack boots,
are urging them on. Two men sit at ease on the coach box. One, a tall
young fellow, looks at a distance like a field-officer in a flashy
uniform, but is only an English footman in a gaudy livery, who needs
the training of a London winter or two, in a fashionable household, to
make him a flunky of the first water. The other, an old man, with a
severe countenance, is plainly dressed, but, with a less brilliant
exterior, has a more respectable air than his companion. He, too, is
the man in authority as, from time to time, he directs the party and
urges them on in somewhat impatient tones.

If you are familiar with the country and the times, you may imagine
that some British general officer has been so long in the peninsula,
that he has adopted the style and equipage of Cuesta, and some other
Spanish leaders, and fallen into their habits of slow and dignified
motion. You will think it high time for him to be sent home, that some
one less luxurious and stately, but more alert and energetic, may fill
his place. One look into the coach will undeceive you. Its chief
occupant is a lady, whose years do not exceed nineteen; and she is