fall; and then I cheered on the regiment as they gallantly charged into the redoubt. [Sidenote: THE FRENCH THRUST OUT FROM SPAIN.] The fort being carried, the regiment pursued the enemy down the opposite side of the hill, whilst I remained behind idly to look around me. The scene was beautifully romantic and heroically sublime. Groups of cavalry were seen judiciously, although apparently without regularity, dotted along the sides of every hill, watching an opportunity of falling on the discomfited foe. Our troops gallantly bore on over an unbroken series of intrenchments, thickly crowded with bayonets and kept lively by incessant fire. The awful passing events lay beneath my view; nor was there aught to interrupt my observation save a few bodily twitches, the pangs of prostrated ambition, and the shot and shells which burst close, or nearly cut the ground from under me. Alone I lay reclined, being unable to maintain an upright position; and thus I had a good opportunity for melancholy contemplation, not unmixed with patriotic joy as I reviewed the battle which tended slowly upwards. The deadly strife was surprisingly grand; yet the sublimity of the scene defied all attempt at description. The wreck and destruction of men and matter was strewn around; the piteous life-ending moans of the wounded writhing in torture, and the loud yelling fury of the maddened combatants, repeated by a thousand discordant echoes, were truly appalling, especially to a person who being put out of the fight could be only a spectator of the tumult. The fierce and continued charge of the British was irresistible, nor could they be checked; onward they bore, nor stopped to breathe, rushing forward through glen, dale and forest, where vivid flashed the fire and bright gleamed the steel. Yet they seemed to chase only the startled red deer, prowling wolf or savage wild-boar, until they arrived at the steel-bristling strongholds of the foe. Now they occupied the same level upon which I lay. Here the battle raged in its utmost fury; and for a short time it became stationary. The contending foes were the soldiers of the two most warlike nations of Europe and the most steadfast in mutual jealousy and aversion. The British legions impetuously rushed forward on the native soil of France, resolved to uphold till death the honour and glory of their country. Those of France with equal bravery and resolution determined to resist to the last this insulting intrusion on their soil. Thus mutually stimulated to madness, they met with a shock tremendous. France nobly maintained her well-earned military fame; but her surprisingly valiant deeds proved vain in this bloody border strife, where noble emulation wrought up to the highest pitch the Percy and Douglas and a third not nerveless arm, all now dealing forth deadly blows under one and the same banner. What foe could resist their united attack or penetrate the shield formed of the Rose, Shamrock and