soldiers, a few filthy-looking old women, and half-famished dogs. The intense heat of the Plaza and streets, however, would at once drive you to seek the shade of your billet, if the abominable smells within doors had not induced you to prefer roasting to the endurance of them. When the column entered Tafalla, which might be one day in two or three weeks, there was life enough in the place; but during the time it was absent I was fretting myself to death with the idea that they might get into action during my absence from them. In this uncomfortable sort of existence at Tafalla many reasons for leaving the service, which the bustle of my former active life had prevented from being presented to me, now came upon me in full force; and, at length, on the 1st of June, I tendered my resignation, and, being well acquainted with the Spanish language, I determined, after procuring my passports, to proceed to Madrid, and thence by Cordova, Seville, and Cadiz, to England.

On the 18th I was informed by the governor of Tafalla that the division had entered Los Arcos, and was about to attack. I immediately ordered my horses to be saddled, and taking only my servant, I left Tafalla at four in the afternoon, with the intention of reaching Lodosa that night, and getting to Los Arcos the following day. It was dusk when we got out of Peralta, but the moon soon rose, the evening was delicious, and we trotted forward over the fresh open downs at a brisk pace. Nothing broke the stillness of the evening, save the hollow sound of our horses' feet upon the dry turf, and the jingling of our swords. However, no Lodosa appearing, I began to think we were on a wrong course, and after taking an observation, I perceived that we were going right towards the quarters of the Curá of Allo. As it was by no means desirable to arrive there, I turned sharp to the left, and after wandering about for some time, about ten at night the moon showed us the tower of a church, which I soon recognized to be that of Andosilla. This was an open town, the people were Carlists, and it was by no means impossible that some of the band of the worthy parson of Allo might be in the place. But it was getting late. I knew I had several friends in the town who were well-inclined to the English, and I determined to trust myself among them rather than to wander in the dark over the enemy's country.

I was not mistaken in my opinion of the affection of the people towards the red-jackets. When I got into the street the people crowded round, each eager to have me in their house. I selected an old acquaintance, by whom I was very well received and kindly entertained. This conduct on the part of people whose relations were serving in the ranks of our enemies, and who had been harassed by six years of war, oppressed by the quartering of soldiers upon them, by contributions, by the seizure of their cattle for the purposes of the war, and a variety of other miseries, such as those only whose country is the theatre of warfare can rightly estimate, was most generous. When I considered, too, that it was shown towards foreigners and heretics, I felt, and shall ever feel, most grateful for the treatment I received. I knew their character. I had placed myself alone in the midst of them, and I felt certain that they would not betray me; and I must say that I always experienced, and know that my countrymen experienced generous and noble treatment from the people of Na

varre.

On the 19th I pushed forward to Los Arcos, which I reached safely, to the no small surprise of the Spaniards, who would hardly believe that I had come alone from Tafalla, and seemed to think that by sleeping in Andosilla I ran a very good chance of waking with my throat cut in the morning.'

The streets of Los Arcos presented a very martial appearancenearly fourteen thousand men of different arms filled the town. Nothing could be finer than the appearance and discipline of the division of Navarre at the time I took my leave of it. The infantry, swarthy and fierce-looking fellows, indefatigable in marching, and accustomed to battle; the cavalry, consisting of sixteen squadrons, well mounted and equipped, formed together a force which a general might well be proud to lead. The cavalry consisted of four squadrons of the royal guards; one of British; three of the third heavy dragoons; four of the fifth ditto; and four of the eighth light. Among the guards were men of great stature and martial appearance, and their horses were excellent. Indeed when this force, consisting of seventeen hundred cavalry, manoeuvred together on the plains of the Ribera, the sight was very splendid. The different dresses of the troops made a gay appearance. There might be seen the bearskin cap and blue and silver dress of the grenadier,-the cuirassier clad in steel, the scarlet uniforms of the British, the yellow jacket and steel helmet of the dragoon,-and the light cavalry clothed in green; then the lace-flags fluttering in the breeze, and the arms glancing in the bright sun of Spain: it was indeed a goodly sight. Nothing could be finer than to witness the whole column, infantry, cavalry, and artillery, advance in order of battle across those noble plains in the course of our field-days and reviews. The dark lines of the infantry; the flashing of their bayonets; the cavalry with their gay uniforms and glittering sabres; the guns, each surrounded by its armed gunners in close array, and followed by its ammunition-wagons; the tread of so many thousand feet; the tramp and neighing of horses; the ringing of arms-all struck upon the eye and ear and when the bugles of the infantry and trumpets of the cavalry gave forth their brazen voice, 'sonorous metal breathing martial sounds,' he must have had a dull soul who did not feel able to 'dare all that doth become a man' in such gallant company.

I must confess, however, that the Spanish cavalry do not deliver a charge as well as they might do. The fortitude and bodily endurance of both man and horse is astonishing; but both want life and energy in the charge. The infantry are far better than the cavalry. I have seen battalions in the Army of the North whose appearance as soldiers is not to be surpassed. I have seen both their powers of marching and their courage in the field put to the test, and on those occasions they behaved admirably. Indeed, in no part of Europe have I met with soldiers to equal the light companies of the regiments Zaragoza and Princesa at the time I quitted the Spanish

army.

The high name which both the cavalry and artillery of the British brigade held among the Spaniards was very gratifying; their gallantry in the field was never disputed, that is, I believe, always conceded to my countrymen; but their orderly conduct in quarters, and their clean, soldier-like appearance, considering the circumstances in which they were placed, was highly to their credit.

Finding nothing doing, or likely to be done in Los Arcos, and that the badness and scarcity of water, the crowded state of the town, and the unhealthiness of the place were producing sickness in the army, I procured my passports, and taking leave of my comrades in arms, I proceeded on the 22d by Vienna to Logroño a distance of twenty miles, lying through a wild and picturesque country.

On the 23d I rode to Calahorra, thirty-six miles, under the most scorching sun and oppressive heat that I ever experienced in my life. Soon after I arrived at Calahorra the money for the division of Navarre reached the same posada in which I had put up. It was contained in boxes carried upon mules, and escorted only by six or seven lancers, and as many infantry. Next morning I was awoke by the woman of the inn rushing into my room, and calling to me for God's sake to get up, for that we were surprised. I got up, and looked out at the window, from which 1 beheld a scene of great uproar. The horsemen who escorted the money were mounting hastily, apparently in considerable alarm; the infantry were examining and loading their muskets; women ran wildly about, shrieking, while several wounded peasants were led or carried along the street. Concluding from all their appearances that the Philistines were upon us,' I called to my servant, who slept in the ante-chamber, to saddle with all speed, and proceeded to dress myself; which being accomplished I took my sword, and went down into the street, and having at last succeeded in getting some connected answers to my inquiries as to the cause of the uproar, I found that my old friend, the sporting parson' of Allo, learning that so many thousand dollars, with a weak escort, were passing under his nose, had (as any one might have expected he would have done,) dashed across the Ebro, at the head of fifty lancers, with the intention of capturing the said dollars. Having waited some time in the olive-groves between the town and the Ebro, and finding that the money did not make its appearance, the reverend gentleman rode up to the town, and amused himself with killing, wounding, or capturing all the poor, harmless, unarmed peasants that he could lay his hands on; and having disposed of above twenty in this manner, he retired.

Having waited till the storm was passed, about two in the afternoon I left Calahorra, and crossing the Ebro by a ferry-boat, reached Peralta. Here the town-major advised me not to go on to Tafalla, as some of the enemy's cavalry had been seen on the road in the morning. However, my horses were fresh, the country open, and the distance only sixteen miles, so I determined to take my chance. When we had got a couple of miles from the town, we observed a party of some twenty horsemen towards the Arga on our left. They saw us too, and made towards us; and as their red boynas told at once who they were, we had nothing left but to ride for it. We led them a chase, in which we soon distanced them, and arrived safely in the Plaza of Tafalla about dusk.

Next day I began to prepare for my journey through the south of Spain, and was anticipating with pleasure a speedy return to my own country and home, when suddenly I fell sick of a low fever, very common in Spain, and it was not till the 16th of July that Í was able to move. My plans were then changed, and I determined to get home as soon as my weak state would allow me. Travelling

slowly over the old ground, Tudela, Zaragoza, and the Pyrenees, I reached Bourdeaux on the first of August, and after resting there, at Paris, and at Havre, I landed at the Tower Stairs on Sunday, August 18th, after an absence of nearly twenty months from my own country. And so ends the soldier's story.

Edinburgh.

THE DYING CHILD.

THE night-shade had crept o'er the distant hill,
'Twas spring, and the eve was cold and chill,
The lone winds whistled o'er mount and steep,
And the day-bird lay in his nest asleep,
When a fond young mother, with aspect mild,
Wept as she gazed on her dying child.

With an eye too bright for a form of clay,
In its mother's arms the infant lay,
With its head on her bosom pillowed, where
Streamed its long tresses of golden hair,
Like straggling sunbeams of softest glow
Tinging the splendour of stainless snow.

Not a thing in that lonesome chamber stirred,
Not a whisper rose,-not a voice was heard,-
Nor a sound, save the gasp of the panting breath,
And the struggling sigh that heralds death,
The spell of that painful stillness broke,

Till startling and sudden the doomed one spoke.

'You remember a quiet green spot of ground,

Where the moss and the wild rose grow thickly around,
And a tall broad oak in its grandeur throws
Its cool shade alike o'er the moss and the rose,
Away from the hot sun's scorching glare,
Oh! when I am dead let me slumber there!

'Mother! O mother! my eyes grow dim,-
Did'st thou not hear yon distant hymn?

Earth knows not the sound,-'twas an angel's tongue
Those kind words spoke,-those soft strains sung;

Calm and commanding, I see him now,

With the stamp of love on his dazzling brow.

'How beautiful! mother-his form divine!

How glistening and bright his white robes shine!
O sweet is the smile of his deep blue eye;
Kiss me, dear mother, before I die!'

From a cloud at that moment one star came peeping,
And the soul of the child with its God was sleeping.

K. J.

PADDY CARROLL, THE PIPER.

BY BRYAN O'HALLORAN.

GENTLE Reader, have you ever seen an Irish piper? Have you ever heard an Irish piper? Do you know how an Irish piper lives? If you have seen one, he assuredly was a small, pale-faced, halfserious, half-comic looking creature, with fingers like drumsticks, and the bump of musical destructiveness as big as a potato on each side of his pointed forehead. But how an Irish piper lives in these days of cold water and temperance movements is more, I believe, than the poor fellows themselves can tell.

Paddy Carroll, the piper, was the plague of my life. During fairtime, at weddings, and now and then at a wake-for Paddy could play elegies better than Ovid wrote them-he was well enough, but when the boys were busy with the turf or potatoes, the girls preparing for station, and the brogues lay greased in the corner, never was there a more shadowy victim of blue-devilism than the favourite piper of my mother. Paddy and I were old friends, he knew me, I may almost say, before I knew myself; he played at my christening; his drone lulled me to sleep in my cradle; he danced at my wedding, when that poor girl-but I dare not look that way. So, to be brief, I think I ought to have been kind to my poor piper. Nevertheless, many is the good trick I played him, but all in a playful way. We are full of real jokes in Ireland,-a thing scarcely known in this matter-of-fact country. O! ye have none of the young life here. I tell you, ye were never young! That rollicking, roaring, heartbounding joy which makes some days of our existence, like the sundance of Easter-morning, Nature's heaven-born revelry, is not to be found in no longer merry England. Surely when Nature gave her fresh milk of wit to gladden the young world, the overflowing cream was poured alone into the Irish heart. But even a joke may go too far, and tears fountained in mirth will, sometimes, find their channel in sorrow.

Well, I believe, the dickens was in me that fifteenth of June. I was wholly absorbed in business, when who should creep in but the piper. I accordingly laid down my pen, heard his petition, granted it, and, with the delight of earlier and happier years, listened to his music. But just as he was capering off, for the moment the drop passed Paddy's lips he became Terpsichore-the embodiment of ballet-well, then, just as he was wheeling away to the tune of Garry Owen, a thought entered my head, or rather, the old mischief-prompter put it there.

'Stop, Paddy, stop!' said I, I want to speak to you.'

The piper, playing on, reeled back into the office, and by a nod indicated attention.

'Cease your noise, man,' continued I, 'and listen to me: I have something to tell you which will gladden the old woman's heart.'

He let off the last bar of his melody through the drone, and holding the rail which separated us, by an effort steadied himself.

Well, Masther Brine?'

'Paddy, should you like to be rich?'