lin once myself, sir," he remarked in after
years to a friend; "but I soon found that fiddling and soldiering
didn't agree--so I gave it up, sir! I gave it up!"

Only one other anecdote is recorded of his life at Eton, and this was a
fight! Nor was it a case of choose your weapons--it was plain fists.
He began with first principles. A fellow student, Robert Smith, who is
chiefly noted as having been the brother of Sydney Smith, the noted
essayist and preacher, was enjoying a swim in the river, near the
campus. Arthur could not resist the impulse to throw mud at his bare
back.

"Stop that!" yelled Smith.

"You make me!" taunted Wellesley.

"You just wait till I come out," replied his victim.

"Dare you to come," said Arthur.

Bob promptly waded out, and they "mixed." Just which boy got the better
of it is not clear, but if justice ruled, the future conqueror of
Napoleon should have received his first trouncing.

One other fight is recorded of his early schooldays--and this does not
mean that Arthur was naturally of a pugnacious disposition, for he
wasn't. It simply means that one's battles, little or big, are always
remembered, rather than the pleasant though colorless ways of peace.
On a visit home he got into an argument with a blacksmith's boy, named
Hughes. In this instance, might was right. The smith's muscles were
the brawnier, and the Etonian got soundly licked--that is, if we can
take the word of Hughes who was wont to boast in later years that he
beat the man who beat Napoleon!

At Eton came the usual question which confronts every boy in his
teens--the choice of a business or profession. His mother did not
think he was good for anything. In writing of her children, about this
time, she says:

"They are all, I think, endowed with excellent abilities, except
Arthur, and he would probably not be wanting, if only there was more
energy in his nature; but he is so wanting in this respect, that I
really do not know what to do with him."

He took no interest in the law or the Church. He seems to have moped
along in a lackadaisical sort of way in the classroom. He had not
given an indication of "shining" in any direction. Consequently there
was nothing left for a gentleman's son--except the army! It was a
make-shift choice.

Those were the days of the American Revolution. The progress of this
struggle must have appealed powerfully to the English boys; and the
final defeat of the trained Brit