Lord Wellington evacuated Coimbra on the approach of the enemy, upon the 1st of October; the town had generally been quitted by the higher classes of inhabitants during the preceding days; a considerable proportion, however, still remained, hoping that the enemy might yet be prevented from getting possession of it. But about ten o’clock on the morning of the first, there was suddenly an alarm that the enemy was approaching; the report was soon magnified into his having entered; and at one burst the whole of the remaining inhabitants ran shrieking from the town. The bridge, which is very long and narrow, was at once choked by the crowds which were pouring upon it; and the unhappy fugitives, who found their flight impeded, threw themselves into the river, and waded through it. The Mondego was fortunately not deep at this time, the dry season had kept it shallow; but there were three or four feet of water in many of the places where the unfortunate inhabitants passed it. In the midst of all the horrors of this scene; of the cries of the wretched people who were separated from their families; of those who were leaving their homes, their property, their only means of subsistence, without the prospect of procuring wherewithal to live for the next day, and of those who believed the enemy (with his train of unheard-of cruelties) at their heels; the ear was most powerfully arrested by the screams of despair which issued from the gaol; where the miserable captives, who saw their countrymen escaping, believed that they should be left victims to the ferocity of the French. The shrieks of these unhappy people were fortunately heard by Lord Wellington; who sent his aide-de-camp, Lord March, to relieve them from their situation; and thus the last of the inhabitants of Coimbra escaped from the enemy. It is not in the nature of this work to dwell upon scenes of misery, such as have been now described; but the recollection of them will last long on the minds of those who witnessed them. The cruelties of the French had made an impression upon the Portuguese, that nothing could efface; it seemed to be beyond the power of man to await the enemy’s approach. The whole country fled before him; and if any of the unhappy fugitives were discovered and chased by a French soldier, they abandoned every thing to which the human mind is devoted, to escape from what they looked upon as more than death, the grasp of their merciless invaders.—Innumerable instances of these melancholy truths might be detailed; but it would waste the time of the reader, and the relations of the horrid acts committed by the French would be too shocking to dwell upon.