A CHAPTER FROM "CHARLES O'MALLEY THE IRSH DRAGOON".
THE WATCHFXBE.
There are few things so inspiriting to a young soldier as the being employed with a separate command. The picket and outpost duty have a charm for him no other portion of his "career possesses. The field seems open for individual boldness and heroism: success, if. obtained, must redound to his own credit : and what can equal, in its spirit-stirring enthusiasm, that first moment when we become in any way the arbiter of our own fortunes ? Such were my happy thoughts, as, with a proud and elated heart, £ set forth upon my inarch. The notice the Commander-in-Chief had bestowed upon me had already done much: it had raised me in my own estimation, and implanted within me a longing desire : for farther distinction. I thought too of those far, far away, who were yet to hear of my successes. I fancied to myself how they would severally
receive tbe news. My poor uncle, with tearful eye and quivering lip was before me, as l saw him read the despatch, then wipe his glasses, and read on, tp at last,-with one longdrawn hreath, his manly voice, tremulous with emotion, would break forth—" My boy; my own Charley !" Then I pictured Considirie, with port erect and stern features, listening, silently; not a syllable, not. a motion, betray- ? ing that he felt interested in my fate, till, as If; impatient, he would break in—" 1 knew it ; i said BO; and yet you thought to make him a lawyer !" and then Old Sir Harry, his warm heart glowing with, pleasure, .and his. good humoured face beaming with happiness—how many a blunder he would make in retailing the news, and how many 'a hearty laugh his version of it -would give rise to. I passed in review before me the old servants, as they lingered in the room to hear the stoiy. Poor old Matthew, the butler; fumbling with his corkscrew, to gain a little time j then looking in my uncle's face, half entreatingly, as he asked—" Any news of Master Charles, sir, from thl wars Snch were my passing thoughts as I pressed forward. My men, picked no less for'themselves than their horses, came rapidly along, and ere evening, we had accomplished twelve leagues of our journey. The country through which we journeyed,
though wild and romantic in its character, was singularly rich and fertile, cultivation reaching to the veiy summits of the rugged mountains, and patches of wheat and Indian corn peeping amid masses of granite rock and tangledijrushwood; the vine and the olive grew wild on every side; while the orange-and the arbutus, loading the air with perfume, were mingled with prickly pear trees and variegated hollies. We followed no regular track, but cantered along over hill and valley, through forest and prairie; now in long file through some tall field of waving corn, now in'open order upon some level plain, our-Portuguese guide nding a little in advance of us, upon a jet black mule, carolling merrily some wild Gallician melody as he went. ^ As the sun was setting, we arrived beside a little stream that, flowing along a rocky bed, skirted a vast forest of tall cork trees. Here we called a halt; and, ^picketing our horses, proceeded to make our arrangements for a bivouac. Never do I remember a more lovely night: the watch-fires sent up a delicious odour from the perfumed shrubs, while the glassy water reflected on its still surfacejhe starry sky that, unshadowed and unclouded, stretched above us. I wrapped myself in my trooper's mantle, and lay down beneath a tree—but not to sleep. There was something so exciting, and withal so tranquillizing, that I had no thought of slumber, but fell into a musing reverie. There was
a character of adventure in my position that charmed me much. My men were gathered in little groups beside the fires, some sank in slumber, others sat smoking silently, or chat- 1 ting, in a low and under tone, of some by-gone tale of battle or bivouac; here and there were picketed the : horses ; tbe heavy panoply and piled" carbines flidkering in the red : glare of •the watch-fires, which ever and anon threw a flitting glow upon the stern and swarthy faces of my bold troopers. Upon the trees around sabres and helmets, holsters and cross-belts, were hung like armorial bearings in some antique hall, the dark foliage spreading its heavy shadow around us. Farther off, upon a little rocky ledge, the erect figure of the sentry, with his short carbine resting in the hollow of his arm, was seen slowly pacing in measured tread, or standing for a moment silently as he looked upon the fair and tranquil sky—his thoughts, doubtless, far, far away, beyond the sea, to some hnmble home, where The hum of the spreading sycamore, Hat grew beside his cottage door was again in his ears, while the merry laugh of his children stirred his bold heart. It was a Salvator Rosa'scene, and brought me back, in fancy, to the bandit legends I had read in boyhood. By the uncertain light of' the wood embers I endeavored to sketch the group before me. The night wore on. One by one the soldiers stretched themselves to sleep, and all was still. As the hours rolled by, a drowsy feeling -crept gradually over me; I placed my pistols by my side, and, having replenished the fire by some fresh logs, disposed myself comfortably before it. It was during that half-dreamy state that intervenes between waking and sleep, that a rustling sound of the branches behind attracted my attention. The air was too calm to attri-
bute this'to the wind, so I listened for some minutes ; but ileep, too long deferred, was over powerful, and my head sunk upon my grassy pillow, and I was soon sound asleep. How ~ long I remained so I know not, but I awoke suddenly. I fancied some one had shaken me' rudely by the shoulder, but yet all was tranquil: my men! were sleeping soundly asl saw them last: the fiixs were, becoming low, and a gray streak in the sky, as well as a sharpcrildfeeling ofthe air, betokened the approach of day. Once more I heaped some dry branches together, and .was about again to stretch .myself to rest, when I felt a hand upon my shoulder. I turned quickly round, and by the imperfect lightof the fire saw the figure'of a man'standing motionless beside me; his head was bare, and hishair'^ell in long curls upon his shoulders; one hand was pressed upon his bosom, and with the other he mo-: turned me to silence. My first impression was that our party were surprised by some French patrol, but as I looked again, I recognised, to my amazement, that the individual before me was a young French officer I had seen that morning a prisoner beside the Douro. "How came you here?" said I in a low voice to him in French. " Escaped: one of my own men threw himself between me and the Bentry: I swam the Douro, received a musket ball through my arm, lost my shako, and—here I am." " Tou are aware you are again a prisoner ?" "If you desire it, of course I am," said he, in a voice full of feeling,-that made my very heart creep. " I thought yon were a party of Lorge's Dragoons, scouring the country for forage—tracked you the entire day, and have only now come up with you." j The poor fellow, who had neither eatca nor
drank since day-break, wounded and foot-sore, had accomplished twelveleagues of aJma^chj only once more to fall into thfe hands ^his enemies. His.years could scaredy'h»veJi|oashered nineteen; his countenance was singularly prepossessing; < and,- though bleeding and toni, with tattered uniform, and withoutcovering lo his head, there was no mistaking ibf a moment that he was of gentle blood. Noiselessly anil cautiously I made Mm sitdoWh ta* side the ire, while I^read before trim the roaring remnantinyilast night's supper, and shared my solitaiy bottle of sherry with him. From the moment bespoke I I sever entertained la.thought of making him a prisoner;; but as I knew hot how far l was calpable in permitting, if not actually facilitating his escape, I resolved to keep the circumstance a secret from my party, ^d, if possible, get him away before diiy-bfeak. No sooner did he learn my intentions regarding him, than in an inBtant all memory of his past misfortune, ali lthoughts -of- hfe present destitute condition, seemed to hav6 fled ;_>nd, while I dressed his wound and bound up his shattered fenn, he chatt^ away m unjponcernediy about tjip past antl the 3htiii« as thoiigb ieated 'beside.the fire of his owhbivouac, and surrounded i>y his owii brother ; officers. . ".You took tts by. surprise the other day,'*
said he. "Our marshal looked for the attack from the mouth of the river: we received information that jour 8hips were expected there. In any case our -retreat was • an orderly one, and must have been effected with'slight loss." I smiled ' at the self-complacency of this reasoning, but did not contradict him. " Tour loss must, indeed, have been-great: your men crossed under -the fire of a whole battery." " Not exactly," said I^-" our first party were quietly stationed in Oporto before you knew anything about it." " Ah ! sacre Dieu / Treachery!" cried he, striking lib forehead with'his clenched fist. " Not so; mere daring—nothing more. But come, tell me something of your own adventures. How were-you taken ?" " Simply thus :—I was sent to the rear with orders to the artillery to cut their traces and leave their guns; an'd, when coming baek, my horse grew tired in the heavy ground, and I was spurring him to the -utmost when one of your heavy dragoons—an offieer • ttk^-dashed at me, and actuallyrode ine down, horse and all. I lay for some 1 time bruised by the fall, when an infantry soldier passing by, seized me by the collar, and broUj^ht me to the .rear. No matter, however, here lam now. Ton will not give me tip; and perhaps I may one day live to repay the kindness." " You^have not long joined?'' " It was my first battle; iziy epaulattes
were very smart-things yesterday, though they do look a little passeee to day. You Are advancing I suppose f" I smiled. without answering the question. " Ah, I fee; you don't wish to speak: neve? mind, your discretion is thrown away upon^ me; for -if I rejoined my regiment ^tomorrow, I should have,forgotten all you told me—all but your great kindness." These last words he spoke, slightly bowing his head, and coloring'as he ^poke them. "You kee dragoon, I think feaid I, endeavouring to change.&e topic. " I was two days ago, chassettr a cheval, a sous-lieutenant in the regiment of my father, the General St Croix." " The name is familiar to me," I replied; " and l am sincerely happy to-be in a position to serve the son of so distingoished an officer." " The son of so distinguished an officer is most deeply, obliged, but wishes with all his heart'and soul he had neversought glory under such very excellent auspices. You look surprised, mon chery but let me tell yon, my military ardour is considerably abated' in the last three days; hunger, thirst, and this," lifting his wounded limb as he spoke—" are sharp lessons in so short a campaign, and for one, too, -whose -life hitherto --had" much' mote of ease than adventure to boast xjf, Shall l tell you how I became a soldier?" '' By all means; give me your glass first— and now for a fresh log to-the fire—I'm your man." : - ; " But stay, before I begin, loofc:to this." The blood was flowing rapidly from Ins wound, which, .vrath some; diffictuty^ 1 1 succeeded in staunching.. He- drank off his wine hastily, held out bis glasfi to be refilled, «lnd then began his story.—" Have you never seen the Emperor?"
"Never!" " Sacre bleu! What a rnan he is! I'd rather stand*' undisr the fire'of your grenadiers than meet his eye. When in a passion, he does not say iriuch, it is true; but^ when he does, it comes with' a kind"qf hissing, rushing, sound, wMle the very fire seems to jkindle -In his look: I have him befirc&me this instant; and, ^though you jwill ooofess that^my prolent condition has nothing very pleasing -in : it, ; M should - be sony ind^d to ^diange it' fbr the last time I stood in his ^r^sence. Two moritbs •ago, I sported the gay light- blue and sBver of a pa^d to the Ei&peror; and certBinly; what 'with balls, bonbons, flirtations, Igossip, and champagne supperg, led a very gay, reckless, and indolent life of it. ' Soindnow—I may-tell you more accurately at another period if i we ever meet—I: got myself -into disgrace, 1 and, H «s a punishment, was -ordered to absent myself from the Tuilleries, and retire, forsome weeks, to St -doud. Siberiaj 'to a fiiissian, would scarcely he a heavier inffiction than was 'this hanislmient to me. iWir'BO' court," hp •levee, no ^inilitary parade,. no operal A small household of the Emperor's chosen servants quietly .kept house there. The gloomy walls re-echoed to no muaic ; the dark alleys of . the: dre^ garden seemed the very impersonation of solitude and decay. Nothing broke the dnll monotony of the tir^ome day, except, when occasionally ; near sanset, the clash of the guard wOuld be heard turningout, and tbe claiik of preBrating arms, followed btf the roll of a heavy carnage into the gloom^ • court-yard. '. One^ lamp» ihimqg likea ster, in a small chamber oii the second floor, would remain till near four, sometimes five p'clt^ck, in the morning. The same sounds ofthe guard; and the same dull roll of the carriage, would
break the stillness of the early monm» mA the Emperor—for it was he—w<»ldlbie^n Us Toad back to Paris. We never saw Mm—i say we; for, like myself; some hdf-dozen otherswere also 4here, expiating AdrfoUiee by a life or cheerless -ennui. " It was upon a calm evenifigin April ': sat together chatting over the various AiSaAppga which had consigned us to exile, When sotng one proposed, by tray of passing the time, that we Should visit the small fiower r g*rden that was parted off from the rest, and reserved for : the Emperor alone. It was alraadv beyond the hour, he usually came{ besides that, even should; he arrive,- were -was abundant timeto get tack before he could possibly readi it The garden we had often seen; but there ma Something in the fact that ottr going &ere *was~fe transgression, that so plefeed -us all, ftat jre agreed at once, -and set forth. For above an hour, we loitered about thelonely and deserted ; walks, where already the Emperor's ibottra<d& had worn a marked pathway, when we were weary, and were about to return, jn$t as-one of the party suggested—half In ridumle of die sanctity jpf the spot—Uiat we should have * game -of leap-frog ere .we left it. *Fhe idea pleased -us, and was at once adapted.' Outplan was>: «ach person stationed himself in Somg^iye-wilkor alley, and -waited till &e other %hose turn it was came and leapeK over him ; so that, besides tbe activity displayed,
there was a "knowledge of the locale necessaiy - for, to any one passed over, a forfeit Was to he paid. Our game began at once; andcertainly I doubt if ever those green alleys and shady groves rang to Buch i hearty laughter. Here would <be seen a couple rolling over te^gether on the grass ; there some luckless wight counting out-his pocket money to pay his penally. The hours passed qnietly ovei^ and the moon rose, and it last it came to my turn to make the tour of the garden. As l was supposed, to. know all its intricacies better than the rest, a longer time was; given to conceal themselves. At length the word :WBS given to fetart, and .1 started. Anxious to acquit myself well, I hurried along at top epBed, but guess my surprise to discover that nowhere could I find one of my ^ companions; down one -walk I ecampered—up another—across a third —but ail was -still aid silent; not a sttafid, not a breath, could I detect; there was still one part of the .garden unexplored—it was a small open space ' before a little pond .which usually contained the gold fish the Emperor was so fond of; thither I bent my steps, and had not gone far whm, in the pale moolight, I saw at length one of my companions waiting patiently for my coming—his head bent forward and Ms shoulders "rounded. Anxious to Tepay him for my own disappointmfent, 1 cr^it silently forward on tiptoe till quite ne^, when, rushing madly on, I sprung upon his back. Just, however, as I rose to leap over, he
raised his headj and, staggered by the impulse of my spring, he w«s thrown foiWd, and, flat on his face on the; grass; laughter, Ifell over him mthe ground, and was ti&amg t© assist him, when staj^ralyhe aprang=- upon his feet,~and^-hern>r df &®rort ] —it - was • Napoleon himself: bis usually paid features were purple ' with rage; butsot * word, not a syllable, escaped him. " Qui etes vous /" said he at length. "StCroix,aire," saidl.stillkneeuugbefore him, while my very heart leaped into my moutiu " St Croix! toujours St Groix. Comehere, approach me," eried he in a voice of stMed passion. " I rose, but before I «ould take step -forward, he sprang at me, and, tearing off my epaulettes, trampled them beneath his foet,and then shouted out, rather than spoke, the tme word—'cr/iez.' " I did not wait for a second intimation, but, clearing the paling at a spring, was many a mile from Fountainblegji before d$y-break."
A CHAPTER FROM CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE tRISH DRAGOON;
THE DUEL.
A small and narrotf ravine between two furze-covered dells led to the «pen space where the meeting had been arranged for. As we reached this, therefore, we were obliged to descend 'from the drag, and proceed the remainder of tbe way afoot. We had ndt gone manyyards wben astep was heard approaching, and the nest moment Beaufort -appeared:- His usually easy and degage -air was certainly tinged with somewhat of constraint ; and, though his soft voice and half spaile were as
perfect as ever, & slightly flurried expression aboujt the lip, and. a quick and nervous -motion of his eye-brow, bgspokfe a heart i&t completely at ease. He lifted his foraging cap most cermoniously to salute us as we came up, and casting ah anxious look to see if any others were following, stood quite still. " I think It right for me to mention, Major O'Shaughnessy,*' said be jn a voice of tpost dulcet sweetness, " that I am the only friend of Captain Trevyllian on the ground; and though I have not the slightest objection to Captain Baker being present, I hope you will see the propriety of limiting the witnesses to the three persons now here." " Upon my conscience, as far as f amcoocerned, er my friend either, we ar© perfectly indifferent if we fight before three or threw thousand. In Ireland, we rather like • crowd." " Of course, then, as ypif fee no objection to my proposidonv I may oount ^ipon youi cooperation in the event of any-intrnsioh ; I mean that while we, upon our sides, will n<o| permit any-of ourfriends tocomejfdrward,you wiU equally exert yourself with jroprs." Here we are, Bkker and' niysdf-neifter more nor leas ; we expect *no oner and want no one; so that I humbly cohfeeTve airthe preliminaries you are talking of -will never be required." Beaufort tried to smile and bit his lips, while a small red spot upon his cheek sprike that some deeper feeling of irritation than the mere careless 1 manner of the major could aic-
count for, still rankled in his bosum. We nbir walked on without speakiug, except when occasionally some passing observation of Beaufort upon the fineness of the evening, or the rugged nature jof the road, broke the sileoee. As we emerged from the little mountain pass into the open meadow land, the tall and saldier« lite jGgure^of Trevyllian was the^^irist?object that presented Itself ; he was Btanding beSide a litUeston^ and seemed occUpliES in d'ec^hfering th<b inscription; He turned at the nbise of oui'^ aJpproach, and calmly waited oUr coming. His eye glanced quickly from the feature* of O'Shaughnessy to those of Baker; but seeming rapidly reassured as he iwalked forward,: las face at once recovered its usual severity and its cold Impressive look of ^sternness. " All right," said Beaufort In a^whifeper, the tones of which I overheard, as he drew near to his friend;' . Trevyllian smTled in return, but did not speak. During the few momenta which passed in conversation between die seconds, I turned fiom the spot vrith Baker, and had scarcely time ts address a question to himj when O'Shaughnessy called out—"Hollo, Baker! come here a moment." Ihe three seemed now in eager discussion for some , minutes, when Baker walked towards Trevyllian, and, saying something, appeared to ti ait for his reply. This being obtained, he joined the others, and -the moment afterwards came to where I was standing.- " You are to toss for first shot; O'Malley. O'Shaughnessy has made that proposition, and the- others agree that, with two crack marksmen, it is perhaps the fairest way. I suppose you have no objection ?" " Of course X shall mike none. Whatever O'Shaughnessy decides forme, I am ready to abide by." " Well, then, as to- the distance,'' saSd
Beaufort, loud enough to be heard by me where I was standing. O'Shaughnessy's reply I could not eatch, but it was evident from the tone of both parties that some difference existed on tbe^ppirit. " Captain Baker shall decide between us,'' said Beaufort at length, and they all walked away to some distance., During all the while I could perceive that Trevylliae's uneasiness and Impatience seemed extreme—he looked from the speakers to thfe moustain pass, Itnd/ strained his eyes In every direction. It was clear that he dreaded some interruption. At last, unable any longer to control his feelings, he called out—" Beanfort, I say, what tbe devil are we waiting for now ?" " Nothing at present," said Beaufort, as he came forward with a dollar in his hand. " Come, Major O'Shaughnessy, you shall call for your friend." He pitched the piece -of money high into the air, 'and watched it as it fell on the soft grass: beneath. " He&d! for a thousand," cried 0*Shanghneasy, running over and stooping down j " and head it is T* " You've" won the first shot," whispered Baker i " for heaven's sake be cool.*' Beadfort grew deadly pale as he bent over the crown piece, and seemed scarcely to ^ave courage to look his friend .-in the face. Not so Trevyllian. He phlled off his gloves without the" slightest semblance of emotion—butfoned up his ; <dl-fitting black frock to the throat—and, thVowing ajapid glance around, seemed bnly eager to begiia the eombat/" " FififeM^ifefes, andtbe-'words 4 one—two."' " ISxa'ctly I ihy cane shall mark that spot"— " Dfeyilisb long paces you make them,"" said O'Shaughnessy, who did not seem- to-approve jpf " They have'some cohfonnded advantage in this, depend upon it," said the Major in a whisper tq Baker. " Are you ready ?" inquired Beaufort.'
" Ready—quite ready," your ground then." t ' -As Trevyllian moved forward to . he muttered something to his friend. I did not hear the first part,, but the latter words which met me were ominous enough—JFor i as I intend to shoot him. 'tis just as well as; v It is." Whether this was meant to be overheard ana intimidate I knew not ; bat its' effect proved directly opposite.^ My firm resolution to hit my antagonist was now confirmed,, and and no compunctious vjsitings unnerved my arm. As-we took our places, jsome little delay again took place, the fluft of my pistol iaving fallen; and thus we remained ml ten or twelve - seconds steadily regarding each other. At length O^Shaughoessy came forward, and putting my weapon in my hand, whisper&tg low—" Remember yoti have but one chance.*' " You are both ready ?" cried Beaufort. " Beady!" " Then, one—two." The last word was lost In the rep'orVtof fijy
pistol, which went off at this instant/ Jftjf-* second, the iiash and smoke obstru^ff tfiy view; but tae moment after, I saw Trevyllian stretched upon the ground, with his • Mend ; kneeling beside him. My first impulse iraqs to rush over, for now all feeling of-enmity was buried in most hea;tfelt anxiety for his fete , but as I was stepping forward, O'Shaughnessy called out—-" Stand fast, 'my boy, he's only wounded:" and -the same moment he rose slowly from the ground, with the. assistance'of his friend, and looked with the same -feild gaze' around him. Such a look! I shall never, forget it: there was that intense expression of searching ansiety, as if he aought to trace the outlines of some -•visionary spirit as it receded before him. Quickly re-assured;- as ft seemed by the glance he threw on all sides, his countenance lighted up—not with pleasure—bat with a fiendish expression of revengeful triumph, which even his voice evinced as he ealled out—u It's my turn now." \ I felt the words in their full force as I stood silently awaiting my death wound ; the pause Was a long one; twice did hfe interrupt his friend as he w&'about to glve .the word, by an expression of suffering, pressing his hand npon his side, and -seeming to writhe with torture ; and yet this vras mere counterfeit; O'Shaughnessy was now coming forward to interfere and prevent these interruptions, when Trevyllian called out in a firm tone—" I'm ready I" The words, " one two," the pistol slowly rose ; fais dark' eye measured me coolly, steadily; his lip curled; anH just as I
felt thut my ls^t moment of life had arrived, * heavy sound of a horse galloping .along the rocky causeway seemed to take off his attention. ^ His frame trembled—his hand shook— and, jerking upwards his weaponi the ball passed hig^fover my head. t L . - " Ton bear witness I fired in the sir^ said Trevyllian, while the large drops of perspiration roHed-'from liis forehead, andhisfeatures worked aB if in a fit. You saw St, ind yon, Beaufortjioy friend—^on also—«peakj Why wjH you not speak f" " Be calm, Trevyllian; be calm, for heaven's •ake. What's the matter with-you?" " The affair Is then ended*" said Baker, ** and most happily so: You are, I hope, not dangerously wounded.*' As he spoke, -CTr^vyUian's features grew deadly ; liyidllw^lf-dpeR mouth quivered slightly; his:^ey^-became fixed; his atm dropped heavily besade him, and with one low faint moani hcleTl fainiing to the ground. As we bent over him, I noiir perceived that another person had joined our party i he was a short determined Iboklng man of about fortyi with black eyes and aquiline features. Before I h^d titne to guess'who it might be, I heard O' SpafftghnesBy address him as Colonel Conyers* " H^ is dying I" saidBeaufort,.still stooping Oyer*." his friend, whose , cold hand he grasped^ withm iiis owls; " pobtj pbor fellow 1" He 6red "in the aSr," said Baker, as he spoke in reply to a que&tion ^fri>m Conyers; what he answered -I heard not ; but Baker re- " Yes, I am certain of it. We all saw it.'' " Had you not better examine his wound^ said Conyers in a . tone of sarcastic irony I could have struck him for. " Is "jour-Mend not hit ? perhaps he Is bleeding." ' "Yes," said O'Shaughnessy; " let us look
to the poor fellow - now.*' So sayipg, with Beaufort's aid, he unbuttoned his frock and succeeded in opening lhe waistcoat; there was no trace of blood anywhere,, and the idea of internal hemdArhage at once occurred.to.tu; when Conyers, stooping down, pushed" pr6 aside, saying at the same time—" Your'fearafor his safety need not distress ybu much; look here/' . AS he ispoke, he'tore -opeirhis shirt,, land disclosed to oar^ almost donbting ww* a vest of ichldff^ jmf^l^n^ the skin, and compIete1y pi6tpl proof. . I cannot diescribe the effect this sight produced upon us. Beaufort sprang to hiis feet with -a bbund as he iscr^med ont rather thah; spoke—" No man believes me to have been> aware"— - • • ' .. No, no, Beaufort^ yonr, reputatiop is* very f&r removed from such a jstain," said Conyers. - . . O'Shaugbnessy was perfectly speechless r he looked from one to the other as thoogb some unexplained "mystery still'remained, andf onlyseemed restoredtoanysense of consciotfeness as Baker said—" I can feel-no pulse at his wrist: his lieart, too, does not beat." Conyers placed hm band npon his bosom, then felt along- his throatj lifted -up an arm, and letting it felt heavily upon the ground, muttered—" He is dead," It was trne. No wound had pierced him: • the pistol bullet was found witiin Ins clothes. Some tremendou8'conflict of the spirit within bad-snapped the cords-of life," and the' strong 1 man had perished in Ms agony. * " i ~ i -'"T-i^ ADELAIDE: 'Printed and Published forthe ftbprietort by SoBKsr Xbomas & Co.,<at their Prlntiag<9!lkj6,' communications tothe Editor murt be addrewed. AOE5TS: Mr PisttSjfBftdley-streetjAflelaide, Mr Abbott, North Adelaide. Mr S. P. Cooper, Hi ndmarBh. „ llrDnacai^Poix A^ftla^,
2Tf)e Qitcravn Beecrfr,
A CHAPTER FROM CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE DRAGOON. IRISH
THERE was once a great banker in London, w ho had a very fine house in Portland-place, and a very dirty old house in the city ; and if tbe latter looked the image of business and riches, the former looked the picture of luxury and display. He himself was a mild man, whose ostentation was of a quiet, but not the less of an acrtive kind. His movements were always calm and tranquil and bis clothes plain ; but the former were stately, the latter were in the best fashion. Holditch was his coachmaker in those days ; Ude's first cousin was his cook ; his servants walked upstairs to announce a visitor to the tune of the Dead March in Saul, and opened both valves of the folding doers at once with a grace that could only be acquired by long: practice. Everything seemed to move in this house by rale, and nothing was ever seen to go wrong. All the lackeys wore powder, and the women-servants had tlieir caps prescribed to them. His wife was the daughter of a country gentleman of very old raee, a woman of good manners and a warm heart. Though there were two carriages^ always at her special command, she sometimes walked on her feet even in London, and would not suffer an account of her parties to find its way into 'the Morning Post. The banker and his wife had but one child, a daughter—and a very pretty and very sweet girl she was as ever my eyes saw. She was not, very tall, though very beautifully formed, and exquisitely graceful. She was'the least affected person that ever was seen ; for, accustomed from her earliest days to perfect ease in every respect—denied nothing that was virtuous and ^ right—taught by "her mother to estimate high qualities—too much habituated to wealth to regard it as an object—and too frequently brought in contact wjih rank to estimate it above its value- she had nothing to covet and nothing to assume. Ber face was Sweet and thoughtful, though the thoughts were evidently cheerful ones, and her voice was full of meiodj and gentleness. Her name was Alice Herbert, and she was soon the admired of all admirers. People looked for her at the opera and the park, declared her beautiful, adorable, divine : she.becatne the wonder, the rage, the fashion; and everybody added] when they spoke about her, that she would have half a million at. the least. Now, Mr Herbert himself w?s !not at alt'anxious that his daughter should marry any of the men that, first presented themselves, because none of them were above the rank of a baron; nor was Mrs Herbert anxious either, because she did not wish to part with her daughter; nor was
Alice herself—I do not well."know why—perhaps she thought that a part of the menwho surrounded her were fops, and as many were libertines, and the rest were fool?, and Alice did not feel more inclined to choose out of these three classes than her father did out of the three inferior grades of our nobility. 1 Ther» was, indeed, a-young man in the Guards, distantly connected with her motner'a family, who was neither fop, libertine, nor fool—a gentleman, an accomplished man, and a man of good feeling, who was often at Mr Herbert's house, but father, motherland daughter, all thought him quite out of the question : the father, because he was not a duke-; her mother, because he was a soldier; the daughter, because he had never given her the slightest reason to believe that he either admired 01 loved her. As he bad some two thousand f year, he might have been a good match for e clergyman's daughter, but could not. pretend to Miss Herbert. Alice certainly liked bin; better thao any man she had ever *een, ane once she found his eyes fixed upon her fron. the other side of a ball-room with aii expression that made her forget what her partnei was saying to her. The col<ir came up inte her cheek, too, and that seemed to give Henry Ashton courage to come up, and ask her to .iance. She danced with him on the following night, too ; and Mr Herbert, who remarked the fact, judged that it would be but right to give Henry Ashton a hint. Two da\s after, as Alice's father was just about to go out, the voimg guardsman himself- was ushered into iiis lit rary, and the banker prepared to give his hint, a&il give it plainly too. He wa?- saved the trouble, however; forAshton's first, sneech was. " I have come to hid'you farewell, Mr Herbert. We are ordered to Canada to put dawn the evil spirit there. I set» ut in an hour to take leave of my n>other, in Staffordshire, and tben embark with all speed.' Mr Herbert economised his hint, and wished his young friend all success. " By the way,*' he added, " Mrs Herbert may like to write a few lines by ynu to her brother at Montreal You know he is ber only brother : he made a sad business of it, what with building and planting, and farming, and such things. So I got him an appointment in t -anada just that he might retrieve. -You will find her up stairs. 1 must go out myself. Good fortune attend you" Good fortune did attend him, for he found Alice Herbert alotie in the very first room he entered. There was a table before her, and she was leaning over it, as if very busy, bu' when Henry Ashton approached her, he found that she had been carelessly drawing wild leaves on*a scraff of paper,- while her thoughts were far away. She. colored:when she saw him, and was evidently agitated ; but she was Siill" more so when he repeated, what he told her father. She turned red, and she turned pale, and she sat still, and she .said nothing Henry Ashton became agitated himself. " It is all in vain,** he said to himself. *** It is all •in vain. 11 now her fat her; too well;" and he rose, asking where he should find hermother Alice answered in a faint voice, in the
little room beyond the back drawing room." Henry paused a moment longer: the temptstion was ton great to be resisted; be took the sweet girl's hind ; he passed.it to his lips, and said, " Farewell, Miss Herbert! farewell! I know I shall never see any one; like you again; bnt, at least it is a blessing to have known you—though it be but to regret that fortune has not favored me still farther ! farewell! farewell!'' Henry Ashton sailed for Canada, and saw some service there. He distinguished himself as an officer, and his name was in several despatches. A remnant of the old chivalrous spirits made him often think when he was attacking a fortified village, or charging a body of insurgents, "Alice Herbert will hear of this]" but often too, he would ask himself. "I wonder if she he married yet?" and hi:- companions used to jest with him upon always looking first at the women's part of the newspaper ; the births, deaths, and marriages. His fears, if we can venture to call them such, were vain. Alice did not marry, although about a year after Henry Ashton had quitted England, her father desce&ded .a little from lb high ambition, and hinted that if she thought fit, she might l'sten to the young Earl of . Alice was not inclined to lwten,. and gave the Earl plainly to understand that she was uot inclined to become his countess. The Earl however, persevered, and Mr Herbert now began to fedd his ii.fluence ; but Alice wa? obdurate, and reminded her fither of a promise he had made, never to press her marriage with any one.- Mr Herbert seemed more annoyed than Alice expected, walked up and down tbe room in silence, and on hearing it, shut him • self up with Mrs Herbert for nearly two hours What took place Alice did not know ; but Mrs Herbert from that moment looked grave and anxious. Mr Herbert insisted (hat the Earl should be received at the house: as a friend, though" he urg<?d his daughter no more ; and'balls and parties succeeded each other so rap ; dly, that the quieter inhabitant? of Portland place wished the banker and his family, where Alice herself wished to'be—in Canada,. In the meantime, Alice became alarmed for her mother, whose health was 1 evidently fufferinp from some cause ; but. Mrs Herbert would consult no physician, and her hpsband seemed never to perceive the.:s.tate of weakness and depressi-)n into which she was linking. A lice resolved to call the matter to her father'snotice, and as he now went* out every morfiing at an early hour, she rose one day sooner ^han usual,- and knocked at the door of his dressing room: There was no; answer, and tmj&biing the door, she looked into pee if h| were already gone.'.^Thc curtains /were stiff drawaji&uf througD%them some <of the morning ||§!ams found; their way, and by the dim sickfyulight Alice beheld an object that made her cfc&ptfief hands and tremble violently. " Her faffrer's chair.^before the dresging stable, was vi^nt; but besid.e it/lay,:,upon tfe floor something like die'figure or man asleep. Alice approached, with her heart' beating so violently that she ciuild hear it; --abd^hero was n^i^he^ sound iu the -room. Sfcejknelt, dowu ijesid^ him \ it was her father.;: She could nqlj lieat him breathe, and she drew4)ack the curtains. He was as pale a^ioafbler and his eyes were
open, but fixed. , with wild ej¥84_ of what she should' ^o. Her mother was in the chamber, at the side of (he dressing room ; but Alice, -6V6D ID lllC ^ifefipfiSt 3^1**- tation, feared to call her," and -rang the bell br her father's valet. The man came and raised his master, -but Mr Herbert had evidently been dead some hours. Poor Alice wept terribly, -but when she thought of her mother, she made no noise, and the valet was silent too; -for in lifting the dead" body to the sofa, he had found a small vial, and was gazing on it intently. - " 1 had better put this away, Miss Herbert,'' he said at length, in a low voice ; " I had better put this away^ before any one else comes " Alice gazed at the : vial with her tearful eyes. It was matked prussic acid! poison 1 This was but the commencement of many sorrows. Though the coroners jury pronoun - ced that Mr -Herbert had died a natural death, yet every one declared he had poisoned him-" .self', especially when it was found that he had : died utterly insolvent, that all his last great speculations had failed, and that the news of; his ab olute beggary had Reached hi«n on the night pr6ecdiog bis decease. Then came all the horrors of such circumstances to poor Alice and her mother : the ; funeral, the examination of the papers, the sale of . the house and furniture, the tiger claws of the law rending op?n the house in ailita-dearest associations ; the commiseration of j&iends, the tannts" and scoffs of those who had envied and hated in silencel Then, for poor Alice herself, came the last worse b!o«% the sietntaSs and deathbed of a mother: sickness, and death in poverty. The last scene was jpst over: tbe earth was just la;d upon the coign of. Mrs Herbert, and Alice sat with her eyes dropping.fast, thinking of the said " What nextP* when a letter:was •riven to her, and she-saw the hand-writing of her uncle in Canada. Shteitiad written to iiim on her: father's death, 'and; now'he ansWitSred full of tenderness atad -affectioh, begging his sister and niece instantly to join him in the new land which he ha& made his ; country. AH the topics of consolation which phiiosopy ever discovered or devised to soothe man under the manifold sorrows and cares oflife are not worth a blade of rye grass in comparison with one wotd of true affection. It was die only balm that ilice Herbert's heart canld have received, and though it did no?, heal the wound, it tranquilised its aching. "Mrs Herbert, though not rich, had not been altogether portionless, and her small fortune was all tliat Alice now condescended to call her' own. There had been, indeed, a considerable jointure, but that Alice renounced with fellings that you will understand. Economy, however, was now a necessity, and after taking-a passage in one of the . cheapest vessels she could find bound for Quebec—a vessel that all tbe world has heard of, named the St. Lawrence—she set out for the good city of Bristrtl, where she arrived in safety on the 16th day of May, 183-. I must now, however, turn to the history of Henry Ashton.
It was just after the business iu Canada was settled that he' entered a room in Quebec, where several of the officers of his regiment were assembled iu various occupations—one writing a letter to goby the packet which was just about to sail; two looking out of the window at the nothing whieh was doing in the streets ; and one reading the newspaper. There were three or four other journals on the table, and Ashton took up one of them. As usual he turned to tbe record of the thr.ee great thing* in life, and read—first the marriages, then the deaths, and. as be did so, he saw—" Suddenly, at his house in Portlandplace, William Anthony Herberty Esq." The paper did not drop from his hand, although he was much moved and surprised j but - his sensations were very mixed; and although, be it said truly, he gave his first thoughts, and they were sorrowful, to the dead, the second were given to Alice Herbert, and he asked limself—" Is it possible that she can ever be mine ? She was certainly much agitated when x I left her 1" " Here's a bad business r* cried the man who was reading the other newspaper—" the Herberts are all gone to smash, and J had six hundred pounds there. Yon are in for it, too, Ashton. Look there 1 They talk of three sbiliings' in the pound." Henry Ashton took the.paper and read., the account ot all that had occurred in London, and he then took his hat and walked" to headquarters*. What he saio or did there is nobody's business but his own; but certaijn it is that by the beginning of ^the very next week he was in the Gulf of St Lawrence. Fair i winds wafted him soon' to England, but in' in St George's Channel : all went contrary,, 1 and Ihe ship was knocked about for three days' without making much way. A fit of 7 impatience had come upon Henry Ashton, and when he thought of Alice Herbert and all she must* havertf&ffenadj his heart beat strangely. One of those little Incidents occurred about this time that make or mar men's destinies.! A coasting boat from Swansea to Wiston came within hail, and Ashton, tired of the other vessel, put a portmanteau,' a servant, and himsel£ into the little skimmer of the seas, and was in a few hours landed safely at the pleasant watering-place of Wistpn-super-mare. It wanted jet an hour or two of night, and^ therefore'a post-chaise was soon rolling the young officer, his servant,'and bis portmanteau towards fcr|stu], on thgir way to London. If arrived.dt a reasonable hour, but yet some on of tHe many thiegs t^at fill inns had happen in ^Bristol that day,$and:'Henfy drove to tb Bush, to the Falcon, and tbe Eountain, anL «everil ijthers, befoi4i he could get a place of length h# found two comf&rtable rooms In a small jtotel near the port, and had sat-flown to hig supper bj a warm fire, wheii an }rish sailor put his head into the room and asked if he werc the jlady that was to gp dowq to the St Lawrence the.next.day ? iH^nry Asliton informed, him that be was &ot a^ lady j and tbat as he had jus§ come fi^m the St Lawrence, he was not g<Mgtack agfaini upo which the man*withdrew to seek'far&er^ f Ten, eleven, twelve «*clcck stiUcki and Henry Ashton pulled off bis boots &nd wen^ to bed. At two o'clock he awoke, feeling
lieatsl and ifprmni Jbegantothibkof it by-no^means Uhan ttefore, an Snv..' * W Vl.«I|U| KJm | anA <11111 smell of fcurriing wi ,one of those uofor! are placed under the e'Ciare.' and pro- 1 1option of a sitting-room, whi.cn, like a Spapi&h 'duenna, will let jiobody in who does not pass by their door. He put on his dressing-gpwn, therefore, and issued out into the sitting-room, and there the smell was stronger^ there was a considerablejcrackling and roaring too; which bad something alarming In It, and he consequently opened -the outer door. All he could now see was a thick smoke ^iUrig^he <^rTidor; rtirougli; j - - sounds of burning ^f^'m^^fMn ^api mistaken, and in a minufeafteiy loud kfjo^qig at doors, ringing of bells, and shouts of " Fire I fire !'* showed that the calaroity had bf«pm& apparent to the people in the sti^. ; ^ al 11 faerushingfort h«f' nskedrnenandwomen which generally follows such a catas^|fte, and th? opening all tlie^^rfi^f-'^vi^^e;^. 1 if for the express purpose of blowing the fire into a flame. . . There were hallooings and shnutin^^—therewerescreamin^and. tears— and what between the rushing spub^§f the devouring element, and the voice of human sufiiering or fear, the noise was enough to iralie the dead. . - • .-.:'.. ; Henry Ashton thought of his portmanteau, and wondered where his .servant was ; but s'-eing, by a number of-people- driven back from the great staircases by flames, that there was n.o time to be lost, he tnadei Iiis way di-vra by a smaller one, and' in a minute or "two reached the street. The engirieis by this time had arrived; an immense crowd was gathering together—the terrified tenants of-the inn were rushing forth—and in the midst Ilenry Ashton remarked one young woman wringing her hands, and exclaiming—" Oh, my poor young mistress! my poor young lady !" " Where is she,, my good girl?" demanded the voting soldier. . In number eleven," cried the girl, " in number eleven ! Her bed-room is within the sitting-room, and. she will seyer hear the noise.*' " There she is," cried one of fhe hyestanders who overheard; "there she is, I daresay." Ashton looked up towards the house, through the lower windows of which the flames were pouring forth ; and, across the casement which seemed next to the very room he himself had occupied, he saw the figure of a woman, in he* night dress, pass rapidly. " A .ladder," he cried, " a ladder tor God's sakol" . No ladder could be got, and Henry Ashton lopkedroundinv^in. " The back staircase is of stooe," he cried j ** she may be saved that way.'' " Ay, lint the corridor is on fire/' said one of the waiters; " yiou'd better not try, sir; it ; cannot bfe done** f. " Vf^b":
Henry Ashton darted away into the inn* and up the Staircase; but the corridor was on lire, as the man had. said, and Jthe flames rushing up to the very door of the rooms hf had lately tenanted. He rushed on, however, recollecting that he had seen a f>idedoor out of his own sitting-room. He dastied in, caught the handle of the lock of the side door, and shook it violently, for it was-fastened. " I will open it," cried a voice from within, that sounded strangely familiar to his earl The locked turned—the door opened—and Henry Ashton and Alice Herbert stood face to face. ".God of Heaven," he exclaimed, catching her in his arms. But he. gave /no time for explanation, and hurried back with'ber,towards the door of his own room. The corridor, however, .was impassable. " You will he lost! you will be lost!" he exchimed, holding her to his heart. " " And you have thrown away your own life to gave mine 1 *' said Alice. "I will die with you, it least! " replied Henry Ashton; ' 4< that is some consolation. But no! thank God, they have got a ladder— they are raising it up—dear girl you are saved! " He felt Alice lie heavy on his hosnm, and when he looked down, whether it wa« fear or ^be effect of the stifling heat, prehearing such words from his lips, he found that she bad fainted. ' ; . ^ , " P is as well,*' hi saH f ahdf as sooii as the? the.ladder was raided, hehorehir out, holding hei firmly yet tepderly to his bosoiii. There was a death-like stilloess below. The ladder shopk undfr his feet ; th,e fi imes came forth apd licked the rounds oo which his steps were placed ; but steadily, firmly, calmly, the young soldier pursued his way. He bore all that be valued on earth in his hrms, and it was no moment to give one thought to fear. .. When bin last footstep touched ihe ground, an'universal shout burst from the crowd, and even reached the ear of. Alice herself; bnt ere she could recover completely, she was in the comfut table drawing room of a good merchant's, house, some way further down the same street. ThB St. Lawrence sailed on the following dayfor Quebec, and, you well know, went diwmin the terrible hurricane which swept the Atlanticinthe summerof thatyear.bearine with her to the depths of ttceab everything that she had carried T>ut from England. But an the day that she weighed anchor, Alice sat in the drawing room bf the merchant's house, with Ijfer hand claS^«l in ftiat of Henry Ashtoti; atfd, ere in^nf mojatns ,wpre over, (lie tears for tbose^ejajr b^iugs she Jbaja, lost were chased by happier drpps, asshe ^ave her faa^d tp the man she loyed^ith.alji t)ie depth of fir^t affection, but whpm she wpuld;/iever lu^ been again, hadit not beeu^r^lhe £re< mm. rm, ADELAIDE-; Printed and Published fbrilteTiropHetorby Konsar Tmoxas & G04 at their Printitit)Oi«L Hiadley^tim, nhere all «tlers,»<tT^rtiiipaa5ju! n cdnHnnmcatioiistotbe Edi tor;m««be ^ddrsaoL > • 1 ,J * junnst' Mr Halts, Hind!<y-Mreet, Adclal^, Mr Abbott, Nortti Adelaide. ' ' Mr S. P. Cooperj Hjwlm«jr?h. UrDtmc^ i*on Ade^i^e,
Wbt Uitttatv l&ecor&.
A CHAPTER FROM CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. NIGHT AFTER TALAVKBA-
The night which followed the battle was a sad one. Through the darkness, and under a fast-falling rain, the hours were spent in searching for our wounded comrades amid the heap of slain upon the field: and the glimmering of the lanterns, as they flickered far atid near across the wide plain, bespoke the track of the fatigue parties in their mournful round; while ,tbe groans of the.wounded rose amid the silence with an accent of heartrending anguish : so true was it, as our great commander said, " there is nothing more sad than a victory, except a defeat," Around our bivouac-fires, the feeling of sorrowful depression was also evident. We had gained a great victory, it was true; we bad beaten the f8r-fiimed legions of France upon a ground of their own choosing, led by the most celebrated of their marshal*, and under the eyes of the Emperor's own brother; but still we felt all thehaeardous daring of our position, and had no confidence whatever in the courage «r discipline of our allies;' and we saw that in the very melee of the battle the efforts of the «nemy were directed almost exclusively against otir line, so confidently did they undervalue tbe efforts of the Spanish troops. Morning broke at length, and scarcely was the heavy njut clearing before the red sunlight, when tlje sounds the fife and drum were heard from a distant part of the field. The notes swelled or sunk as the b|eftze rose or fell, and many a conjecture was'hazarded as to their meaning, for no object was well visible for «no*e than a few hundred yards off: gradually, however, they grew nearer aid nearer, and at
length, as the air cleared, and the hazy vapour evaporated, the bright scarlet uniform of a British regiment was seen advancing at a quick step. As they came nearer, the well known march of. the. gallant forty-third was recognised by some of our people, and immediately the rumour fled like lightning—it "is Crawford's brigade/' and so it was: the nobie fellow had marched bis division the unparalelled distance of sixty. English miles in twenty-seven hours. Over a burning sandy soil, exposed to a raging sun, without rationB, almost without water, these gallant troops pressed on in the unwearied hope of sharing the glory of the battlefield. One tremendous cheer welcomed the head of the column as it{marched past, and continued till the last file deployed before us: As these splendid regiments moved by, we could not help feeling what sigual service they might have rendered us but a few hour before;. their soldier-like bearing, their high and effective state of discipline, their well-known, reputation, were in every mouth; and I scarcely think that any corps who stood the brunt of : the mighty battle were the subject of more epcomium than the brave fellows who had'just joined us. The mournful duties of the night were soon forgotten in the gey and buoyant sounds on every side. Congratulations, shaking of hands,; kind inquiries went round ; and, as we looked to the hilly ground where so lately were drawn up in battle array the dark columns of our enemy, and where not one sentinel, now remained, the proud feeling of our victory came home to our hearts with the ever thrilling thought " What- will they say at home ?" I was standing amid a group of my brother officers, when I received an order from the colonel to ride down to Talavera for the return of our wounded, as the arrival of the Com - mander-in-Chief was momentarily looked for. t threw myself upon my horse, and setting oot at a brisk pace, soon reached tbe gates.
On entering tbe ; town, I was obliged to , dismount and proceed' on foot. The streets i were completely filled with "people, treading their way among waggons, forage, and sicklitters; here was a booth'filled with all imaginable wares for sale ; there, a temporary ginshop established beneath a broken baggage waggon'; here might be seen a merry party throwing dice for a turkey or a kid—there, a wounded man, with bloodless cheek and tottering step,inquiring the road to the hospital; the accents of agony mingled with the drunken chorus, and tbe sharp crack of the provostmarshal's whip was heard abave the boisterous revelling of the debauchee. All was confusion, bustle, and excitement. Thes aff-officer, with his flowing plume and glittering epualettev wended his way on foot ati.id the din and hustle unnoticed and uncared for; while the little drummer aroused an admiring audience of simple country folk by some wondrous tale of the great victory. . My passage through this dense mass was necessarily a slow one. No one made way for another : discipline for, the time was at an end, &nd with it all respect for rank or position. It was what nofhing of mere vicissitude in the fortune of war can equal—the wild orgies of an army the day after a battle. On turning the corner of a narrow street, my attention was attracted by a crowd which gathered round a small fountain, which seemed, as well as I could perceive, to witness some porceeding with a more than ordinary interest, Exclamations in Portuguese expressive of surprise and admiration, were mingled with English oaths and Irish ejaculations, while high above all rose other sounds—the cries of some one in pain and suffering; forcing my way through the dense grroup, I at length reached the interior of the crowd, when, to my astonishment, I perceived a short, fat, punchy looking man, stripped of his coat and waistcoat, and with his short sleevfes rolled up to his shoulders, busily employed in operating upon a wounded soldier. Amputation knives, tourniquets, bandages, and all other imaginable instruments fur giving and alleviating torture, were strewed about him, and, from the arrangement and preparation, it was cWr tha* he had pitched upon this spot as an hospital tor his patients. While he continued to per f >rm his functions with a singular speed and dexterity, he never for a moment ceased a run ning fire of small talk, now addressed to the patient In particular, now to the crowd at large —sometimes a soliloquy to himself, and not unfrequently abstractedly on things in general. These little specimens of oratory, delivered in such a place and in such a time, and not least of all, in the richest Cork accent, were sufficient to arrest my steps, and I stopped for some time too bserve him. The patient, who was a large powerfully built fellow, had, been wounded in both legs by the esplosion of a shell, but yet not so severely as to require amputation. " Does that plaze you, then?'* said the doctor, as heap plied some powerful caustic to a wounded vfessel, " there's no satisfying the like of you. Quite warm and comfortable ye'll be this morning after that I sa-w that same shell coming, and I called out to Maurice Blake, *by your leave, Maurice, let that fellow pass, he's in a hurry*; and, faitn, I said to myself, there's more where you came from; you're not in only child and I never liked the family—what &re ye grinning for, ye brown, thieves ?',—this was addressed to the Portuguese—" There, now, keep the limb quiet and easy. Upon mv conscience, if that shell fell into ould Londy Foot's shop this morning, there'd be plenty of sneezing in Sackvillestreet. Who's next ?" said he, looking round with an expression that seemed to threaten that if no wounded man was ready, that he was quite prepared to cat ve out a patient for himself." Not exactly relishing the invitation in the searching that accompanied it, I backed my way through the crowd, and continued my path towards the hospital Here the scene which: presented itself was shocking beyond belief—frightful and ghastly wounds from shells and cannon shot were seen on all sides; everjr imaginable species of suffering that man is capable of, was presented to view; while, amid the dead and dying, operations the most painful 'were proceeding with a haste aud bustle that plainly showed how many more waited their turn for similar offices. The stairs .were blocked up with fresh arrivals of wounded men. and^even upon the corridors and landing places, the sick' w,ere strewn on all sides. I burned to that part of the building where my own people were, and soon learned that our loss was confined to about fourteen wounded ; five of them were officers, bat fortunately we l«-.st not a man of our gallant fellows, and Talavera brought us no mourning of a comrade to damp the exultation we felt in our victory.