My heart bounded with exultation as I bore aloft the tricoloured trophy: it was so torn with shot and shell splinters, that we could never discover to what regiment it belonged. How different must have been the feelings of the poor sub-lieutenant, while borne off by the French cavalry; who, returning to the rescue, discharged their carbines after me: but I was happily beyond the range of their fire. The battle was now completely over, and every hostile sound had died away. No trace now remained of all that gallant host, whose bayonets had flashed back the morning rays from the ridge of Maida, save the wounded and the dead: the distant glitter of arms and eddying clouds of dust, marked the route of columns hurrying in full retreat towards the shores of the Adriatic. Four thousand Frenchmen lay dead or wounded on the plain; exhibiting a melancholy picture of war and its attendant horrors—more especially on the day succeeding the action. A French account of the battle of St. Eufemio, as they style it, states that Regnier left fifteen hundred on the field; but we had substantial proofs that this number was far below the truth. Our own loss was trifling: one officer only was killed (Maclean of the 20th); but Major Hamil of the Maltese, and many others, lay severely wounded on the plain: our casualties, however, amounted to only three hundred and twenty-six. When riding towards our position, to present my trophy to the general, I had to pick my way with the utmost nicety, to avoid treading on the wounded; who filled the air with groans and ceaseless cries for "water!" as they lay unheeded, bleeding—too many of them to death—under a blazing Italian sun. The evening, like the morning, was serene and beautiful. The dense white smoke, which during the whole day enveloped the plain of Maida and overhung the dark forest of St. Eufemio, had now floated away to the distant sea. The volleying musketry and hollow thunder of the cannon awoke no more the echoes of the lofty hills, and the deep dingles of the woods: a mournful silence seemed to have succeeded to the roar, the turmoil and carnage of that eventful day,—eventful at least to those who witnessed and survived it.