We moved on the left of Burgos, which city the French, contrary to our expectation, had not shut up, but quickly abandoned at the approach of the British. I slept in the house of an intelligent peasant, about two miles from the fortress, and of course the war was the subject of our chat. I found the man very communicative: he had the fullest hope of our success, and gave it as his opinion, that the French would _not_ stand at the Ebro. He talked of the time when the British were before on his ground; and showed me in his fields some of their bones--bleached white and dry: he informed me that a great number of our army perished there. This man, from his apparent acquaintance with the events of the war in Spain, I have no doubt had taken an active part in it--perhaps on the French side; for if it had been on the other, he most probably would not have made it a secret in our conversation; however, many of the Spaniards sided with the strongest party, and now that the British held the sway, this peasant was their warmest well-wisher. We proceeded through Villa Diego towards the Ebro, and came in sight of that river from the plain--or high table land--over which I had been travelling ever since I had left Portugal. The advanced troops had passed the river that morning without opposition, for the French had continued their retreat. The view of the valley--or rather amphitheatre--at the bottom of which the Ebro runs, astonished me by its beauty: for several days I had been accustomed to little variation of scenery--all level country; and now the bosom of luxuriant and romantic nature suddenly presented itself to my sight, as if it were done by magic. Half a dozen steps brought me from a view of mere sky and corn plains, to a scene of the most splendidly varied character--a deep valley, or rather hollow, of about ten miles in circumference, surrounded by woody mountains, except at that part directly facing me. This part opened, and there the eye might travel over blue hills, until the more distant could not be distinguished from the light clouds of the horizon. In this circular valley, every variation of rural beauty was to be seen--cultivated fields--luxuriant foliage--bubbling streams--winding paths--villas, and farm-houses. At the bottom ran the Ebro,--in this place a river of no great breadth; and here the main body of the liberating army had crossed a few hours before me. The line of march now lay along a small branch of a river, which watered the foot of high and bold rocks, shelved and wooded in the most picturesque manner; trees, rooted over trees, hung out in grotesque attitudes, or dipped downwards, as if seeking the black and clear water beneath--thick moss, streaming underwood, wild flowers, and massy trunks, mingled to beautify the first day’s march after we crossed the Ebro:--this repaid me amply for the toil of the preceding days.