because they enhance by their beautiful contrast the singer's light gaiety of heart. As we proceeded the song ceased, and the fair creature from whose lips it had flowed with such "speaking sadness," stood timidly before us. I fear that my description of the beautiful Marie Custine will be thought a partial one, when the sequel of my story appears: however, I must describe her. Dark, very dark eyes, the gazellelike expression of which was ever changing, and ever delightful in its changes-features which, from their pre-eminent national character, possessed for me the attraction of novelty, in addition to their other charms-a form exquisitely fashioned, but giving promise hereafter of the enbonpoint. But I find that in this poor attempt of mine, I have run into all the common-place descriptions of grace and beauty; and I shall therefore leave this imperfect sketch to receive its colouring from the hands of my readers, both old and young-by the former from their recollections, by the latter from their hopes. Marie's shyness soon wore away, and she ventured to talk to us in a sweet but incomprehensible patois, during which she displayed a most fascinating set of teeth. I soon perceived that, however unintelligible she was to us, she held a language with my brother which is current throughout the world-the language of the eyes. She seemed to take pity on Tom, and certainly he did look very interesting, for the loss of blood had blanched his cheek, and given him altogether a very languid appearance. During the ensuing day, there seemed to be an increasing intimacy between the gentle Marie and my brother; for my own part, I passed most of my time in the company of some of the French officers, whose attentive kindness was augmented as we grew better acquainted. As we expected the enemy would be forced to retreat, we declined accepting our parol, though we began to find our captivity extremely irksome. In the middle of the night which followed the second day of our imprisonment, I was wakened by some one giving me a gentle shake; and, as it was very dark, I was just starting out of bed, when I heard my brother's voice bidding me be silent, in a whisper. I asked him what he wanted; but, in a low voice, he desired me to ask no questions, but dress myself as speedily as possible, and follow him. This I did; and on silently descending the stairs, and reaching the door, I found two French dragoons waiting with three horses. The plan of escape was as follows: Captain F and myself were to ride the spare charger, and my brother was to be accommodated behind one of the French Dragoons. We were all of us mounted except my brother, and on looking round for him, I found he had re-entered the house, from which I now saw him coming; while in the uncertain light I discovered a female form standing at the unclosed door, which, of course, I knew to be that of the beautiful Marie. We had no sooner commenced our march than I again began to interrogate my brother, but he, both from inclination and policy, seemed resolved to be silent. During the first three or four miles we frequently heard the challenge of the French videttes, Qui va la? a question which was always most skilfully parried by the smart repartees of our conducting chasseur, whose conduct appeared perfectly calm and collected during the very great danger which he was incurring. The sun had not risen when we reached the banks of the Bidassoa, through the rapid stream of which we were compelled to swim our horses, at no inconsiderable risk, from the great weight

which they carried. It was just day-light when we arrived within the English lines, having made a very circuitous journey. I was now determined to learn the particulars which led to our escape; and I found that the tender-hearted Marie, commiserating our condition, had consented to act the part of ambassadress between my brother and the two dragoons, who were already well inclined to change their service. We amply rewarded our conductors, one of whom enlisted into the regiment of the Duke of Brunswick Oels, and the other I retained in the capacity of valet, butler, and cook. His name was Joseph.

After undergoing the most scrupulous examination before a subaltern, sergeant and twenty men, in which it was resolved by this grave council, nem. dis. on the motion of the learned sergeant, that we were good men and true, we were allowed to proceed to my brother's regiment, where we found we had been some time numbered with the mighty dead. I thought it now high time to return to my friend the baron, and accordingly on the morrow, resigning my borrowed plumes, and bidding adieu to my brother, whose wound had now healed, I resumed my dragoon trappings, and after a pleasant morning's ride, without any notable obstacle, I found my worthy commander engaged in the same laudable occupation in which he was employed when I was first introduced to him. I was exceedingly rejoiced to learn from him that I had arrived just in time to accompany the party on their march the next morning to join the regiment, which was stationed on the Ebro. Fraternal kindness had supplied me with a stout mule, and I had now to purchase another at a very extravagant price. About eight o'clock in the morning we prepared to march. We did not march as in England, with baggage-waggons following us, and with that sleek parade-appearance which proceeds from an abundant use of pipe-clay and blacking, but every soldier now carried along with him three days "good entertainment for man and beast," while the baggage of the officers was generally carried on mules. Buried between two immense trusses of hay, their shoulders loaded with a canteen and haversack, the soldiers were so completely enveloped that very little of the outward man was exposed to view. Our baggage-animals presented a still more ludicrous appearance to the eye of a novice: the large packsaddles being piled upon each side to a most extraordinary height with all the necessaries of a campaign. We marched the first day to a small town, the name of which I have forgotten; and the next, still traversing "the Pyrenean," we arrived at Tolosa, which is a sort of Spanish Sheffield. At this place I received a billet from the Alcalde; but the unpatriotic boors who inhabited the mansion, "against the houseless stranger shut the door," which compelled me to make a forcible entry with the assistance of two of our dragoons, who carried the door, carbine in hand. Being aware of the pretty frequent use of the stiletto in Spain, I confess that I took the precaution of barricadoing my door, and placing my sword and pistols within reach, lest my hosts should be inclined in the night to requite the civility which I had shewn them in the morning. Most of the towns on the frontier have an appearance half French and half Spanish, but Tolosa is completely Spanish, though from its being occupied at the present time by the British, and used as a hospital and store, I had very few opportunities of seeing any thing of the town's-people. I trusted this day to an inn called the

Posada de Leon for a dinner, and from the experience which I then hid of garlic and oil, I never whilst in Spain repeated the experiment. The next morning we continued our march through the Pyrenees, and rode all day through the most beautiful and romantic scenery. We were now traversing the great road commenced by Louis XIV. and completed by Bonaparte, leading from Bayonne over the Pyrenees to Pampeluna-a road very much resembling in its construction our common turnpikes in England. For the first twelve miles from Tolosa, our course lay between stupendous mountains, which, covered with wood, towered perpendicularly above us. The level space between the mountains was about three times the breadth of the road, which was bordered by a pleasant rivulet. The clearness of the day and the beauty of the climate gave additional effect to the fine prospects which continually opened upon us as we wound round the base of the mountains; and what made the scene more interesting, was hearing the songs of the muleteers, and the tinkling of their bells, ere they came in sight. These mules and muleteers, of whom we read so much in the Spanish writers, certainly have a most singular and picturesque appearance. Eight or nine large and powerful mules, each nearly fourteen hands high, are placed under the conduct of one muleteer, who rides upon the leading mule. The beasts are ornamented with large bridles, decked with fringe and tassels, and with bells attached to their heads. The burden is carefully balanced upon their backs, so as not to cause any friction, a sore back in Spain being a very different thing from a sore back in England. The dress of the muleteers consists of a sort of short jacket, made of a kind of velveteen, inexpressibles of darkblue plush, hung round with tassels about the knees, and something between slippers and sandals to supply the place of shoes. A large slouched hat covers the head, which seems made both " for shelter and shade." A long red sash, bound three times round their waists, which is used also as a pocket to carry their cigars and their money, gives them a light active appearance. Their hair is clipped in a most extraordinary manner;-I have often seen the operation performed in the streets on Sundays and fast-days;-the top of the head is cut so close as to give the skull the appearance of having been shaved, while the hair of that part of the head which is not subjected to this operation is suffered to grow to any length, and generally flows over the shoulders. This grotesque figure is seated on his leading mule, with his large cloak thrown over the neck of the animal, and his gun carefully tied on to the bow of his saddle, to be near at hand in all cases of exigency. During his progress he sits singing, or rather shouting, some old Castilian air, to which he often adapts some improvisatorial words in praise of the Volontarios D' Y Mina, or the Seignorittas de Madrida, every now and then interrupting his warbling with the words Anda Mulo carracco; which have only the effect, from their frequent repetition, of making his mules wag their tails. But to return from this digression. Our road continued nearly level until we arrived at the foot of a mountain, over which, from its great height and steepness, it was cut in a zig-zag direction. Our day's march terminated at a village about half way up the mountain, in which a convent of nuns was situated. Our men were stationed in some of the neighbouring houses, and the Baron and I took up our abode at the convent. I had some

expectations of obtaining a sight of one or two of these caged beauties, but the fair sisterhood "with souls from long seclusion pure," thought it wise to retire into another part of the convent-though I must confess I caught a saintly pair of eyes reconnoitring the Baron through a small iron-grating. The abbess, a lady d'un certain age, had provided most comfortable accommodations for us, and I never did less penance during all my campaigns, than on the night I passed within the walls of this holy habitation. On the following day, our path lay entirely over the rugged and lofty ridges of the Pyrenees, through a road carved out of the solid rock. On commencing our descent we broke upon a glorious Pisgah-view of our land of promise. For three days after leaving the Pyrenees we made a circle round Pampeluna, which was at that time in the possession of the French and blockaded by Spanish troops, and on the evening of the third day we halted at the town of Puenta la Reyna. It was at this period the vintage time, and the "bacchanal profusion" of every thing around me reminded me of Sterne's accurate description of the mirth and hilarity which always accompany this season. The Baron and I took a walk for the purpose of viewing the town. It was Sunday afternoon, and all the damsels in the neighbourhood were dancing in various groups to the sound of the tambourine, which was played by one of the party, the burthen of whose song, as far as I could comprehend it, always ran in favour of the Soldades Ingleses. The dance very nearly resembled the Scotch reel, when danced by four, with the addition of many fantastic flings: this is the regular bolero. At the doors of the wine-houses we saw the same dance performed by very different actors; a drunken muleteer playing on his guitar was stimulating the activity of his still more drunken companions. Occasionally, amongst the passengers, we observed a Padre, dressed in his canonical gown, and his long scrowlbrimmed hat, at whose appearance the joyous dances ceased, while every individual of the party made the usual obeisance, and many a fair finger touching a ripe pair of lips, demurely traced the sign of the cross.

At this town the Baron's patron or host, at whose house he was billetted, was a certain worthy Padre, who, in addition to his clerical functions, was the keeper of a gambling-shop, a fact with which we became acquainted in the evening, by discovering him presiding at a table where they were playing a game which the Spaniards call Banco. It appears that this same Padre, like many more of his cloth in Spain, was exceedingly kind to a young lady who resided with him, and who, we were given to understand, was the daughter of a deceased brother. These worthy men generally select the most comely of their destitute relations, whom they charitably admit to a participation in their domestic comforts. The Baron, ambitious of victory both in the field and with the fair, had been paying rather more attention to the Padre's relative than was agreeable to the austere notions of that grave ecclesiastic, though he had hitherto abstained from making any comment upon the conduct of the gallant officer; an occurrence, however, arose, which gave vent to the Padre's resentment, and nearly withered the budding honours of my brave commander. I have already mentioned that we strolled into a gaming-house, where we found the Baron's clerical host acting the part of Banker. The Baron, like all Ger

mans, played deep, and fortune favoured him. In the course of a couple of hours the bank was broken, and the Baron had sacked about four hundred dollars. All the company had left the room except the Baron and myself, and we had just gained the street, when I heard the Baron, who was a little behind me, yell out some most tremendous and unintelligible oath in German; I turned round, and saw the enraged Padre, with a stiletto in his hand, about to repeat the blow he had already given. We were both totally unarmed, but I immediately ran back and caught the Baron as he was falling, and endeavoured at the same time, though ineffectually, to lay hands on the assassin. One of our own men, and two Light Dragoon officers now made their appearance in the opposite direction, and having heard the cries, they were hastening towards us. I committed my wounded comrade to the hands of a Spaniard, and calling to my countrymen to follow me, I started in pursuit of the criminal. One of the Light Dragoons officers outstripped us all, and we saw him catch the Padre by the cloak, who most ingeniously slipped off that garment, and continued his course. We were all of us now nearly equally close on the heels of our game, who turned and twisted with all the skill of an old hare. at last made his escape through a small iron gate, near a church, which closed after him, and effectually put an end to our pursuit. He did not escape entirely with impunity; for in the doubles and turns which he made, one of the light dragoon officers with a whip, our dragoon with his stick, and myself with the toe of my boot, which was fitted to inflict a pretty sharp wound, made him occasionally forget his clerical character, and indulge in some violent imprecations. But, on the whole, I fear this chastisement only furnished him with a more cogent argument not to slacken his speed.

He

SONNET.

WHERE shall Youth's bubbling spirit overflow,
Or whereon shed its tide of generous thought,
Of sympathy and hope, with which o'erfraught
The soul is sick of wishing, and below
Deems that no change awaits it, save of woe?

Vain hope t' expand its wings! for soon 'tis taught,
That all its short-lived pleasure must be caught

In strife and struggle, and in the quick glow

Of passion, like the pelican, well-fed

From its own bosom, with its blood for bread.
Is there no feeling then, no name on Earth,
Apt to contain the ocean of man's will?

Love! Honour! Friendship!-are they nothing worth?
Nought-there's but Freedom, that it deigns to fill.

Y,