On the 1st of November we moved on towards the crest of the Guadarama, our route being along the summit of the hills, forming the lower branches of the Sierra, the ascent of which we took more than two hours to accomplish; many times on the way being obliged to halt, in order to gain breath for a further stretch. It was a work of considerable fatigue to both men and animals, and on arriving at the extreme point we were fairly exhausted by the effect of our morning's walk. Nature has here placed a formidable barrier between the provinces of Old and New Castile. This road, which is the only one across the mountain, is difficult of access, the rocks on either side being steep, rugged, and in some parts perpendicular, rising high above the causeway. Close to where we halted stands a pedestal of granite, on which is placed the figure of a lion crouched, holding between his paws two balls, intended, as denoted by the inscription underneath, to represent the provinces below. In the centre of the pedestal is inserted a square slab of marble, on which is inscribed, in large characters, "Fernando VII, Pater Patriæ," followed by a long account of the cause for which the monument was erected, but in letters so small, and so much defaced, that it is a matter of some difficulty to decipher the mysterious tale. Being again formed into something like marching order, we proceeded downward with a lively pace, leaving the plains of New Castile behind, and bidding a long and last farewell to that part of Spain, which had been for years gone by the theatre of our varied and ofttimes not very peaceful occupation. On our descent from the Sierra, we continued along the main road to Valladolid, and after having cantoned at several intermediate stages, arrived on the 8th at Alba de Tormes, a small town, one day's march from Salamanca, and commanding the passage of the Tormes, over which, at this place, there was a solid stone bridge. We were soon actively employed getting all the old walls and defences into good condition, and, after waiting behind them for a few days, expecting an attack from a large body of the French army, (who had sent some round shot about our ears), we again crossed the river, taking care to destroy the bridges, the moment that the last of our men were over. The enemy, who had threatened in so formidable a way, sheered off to his left, making for the road to Ciudad Rodrigo, in order to interrupt our progress in that line, with the view of eventually cutting off our communication with the frontiers of Portugal.