CHAPTER IV.

DURING a violent snow-storm, which overtook us on our march upon Corunna, several of my comrades, and myself among the rest, wearied with fatigue, took refuge one evening in a small out-house or hovel, as it afforded temporary shelter from the descending storm. There we resolved to pass the night; and having gathered a few sticks, we placed them in the middle of the shed, and kindled a fire for mutual benefit. In the course of the night we were surprised by hearing a rap at the door, accompanied by the weak tone of some one craving admission. Half a dozen voices instantly exclaimed, "Come in : when, lo! a woman, recognised as the wife of a soldier, but hardly able to stand, crept into the shed, and asked protection from the hurricane that was loudly howling along the Sierra: had Satan himself begged an entrance at such a moment, we should scarcely have been able to repress our pity. The poor wandering woman was received with rough but honest sympathy, and was invited to approach the fire. When able to speak she asked for a certain company, to which her husband belonged: we told her it was considerably in advance, and at present out of her reach. Modesty prevented the poor creature from further explanation; when, to the surprise of the men present, the weak cry of a child was heard. The fact was, the mother had in the course of the preceding day given birth to an infant while on the snowy ridge of a desolate mountainous tract, and without the company of a single human being and yet, so far all was well :-there is One who

tempers the wind to the shorn lamb. The life both of the mother and her offspring was whole; and though in a condition so extraordinary, they were likely to survive. English soldiers know how to feel, nor are they quite destitute of discretion; they may be rather rough in manner, nor can they at all times invent the phraseology of oily compliment; but they have no part of the bear about them except the skin, unless provoked, and then the consequences must be abided: when virtue is in distress, none can show sympathy with greater delicacy, or exercise benevolence with more perfect freedom. At the appearance and sad tale of this suffering daughter of affliction, every heart in the place was touched: wretched as was our own condition, each man contrived to spare something. They even parted with some article of their own linen, much as they needed it, for the purpose of contributing to the warmth and comfort of the sufferer: kindness of speech was added, and it did wonders. While on our march the following day the woman, again on her feet, was observed by one of our officers he was told the story of her distress, and, with kindness which none but a great and gallant heart possesses, he alighted from his horse and tramped with us in favour of the poor woman and child. The animal, like his master, joined in the scheme, and carried his novel load most comfortably. I rejoice to add, that both root and branch were preserved, and eventually transplanted in the soil at home.

Let me be permitted here to relate the particulars of another circumstance, the truth of which is attested by evidence which none need doubt. But it will be as well to premise at once, that, if the fact to be disclosed should meet the eye of any person disposed to deny the doctrine of a particular Providence, overseeing and directing the concerns of men, to bring down the lofty, to raise the lowly, and support the weak and fee

ble, the detail will be unworthy of notice, as the instruction it conveys is based upon the belief that, from the rapt seraph that burns before the throne, to the minutest particle of dust borne upon the eddying gale, and in and through the all but infinite gradations of rational and instinctive beings which lie between, almighty goodness provides and metes out its dispensations with justest weight and measure. Not long before our arrival at Corunna, and in the severest part of the retreat, Surgeon Griffith, of the Dragoons, while riding at a rapid pace, observed a woman with a child, reclining on the snow: the weather was tempestuous, and the advanced posts of the enemy not far in the rear. Humanity, however, compelled him to notice the unfortunate female: he immediately reined in his horse and dismounted, when he discovered with regret, that the woman now stretched upon the ground had just breathed her last. She had dropped, no doubt, and perished like many others from mere exhaustion; while the infant, all unconscious of the calamity, had nestled his head close to the cold bosom of his hapless mother, and was endeavouring to suck as heretofore. The melancholy spectacle had now fully aroused the compassion of the horseman, and as relief came too late for the parent, he determined if possible to save the child. accordingly lifted him up, and after placing him comHe fortably on the saddle, again mounted and rode on. The apprehended danger was soon realized: having lost time by this merciful act, he was overtaken by the enemy's cavalry, by whom he and the child were captured and ordered to the rear. This good Samaritan was, however, faithful to his charge, and he and the infant, though prisoners, were inseparable companions. After being detained some time in France, and having visited Paris, Griffith obtained his liberty on parole, and proceeded to England.

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The tender little child had by this time grown into a healthy boy, and was placed by the interest of his benefactor in the Military Asylum at Chelsea. Even here his kind attentions were continued; he generally paid the lad a Sabbath-day visit, and never failed to bring him a present either for his instruction or amusement, not forgetting to line his pocket with a little of the needful for passing exigencies. About three years after the occurrence just related, a soldier who had lost his wife and child in Spain, came to the Asylum at Chelsea to inquire concerning the welfare of a son of his named Hector, who had been previously placed in the establishment. The veteran had not long been engaged in conversation with Hector when the attention of the former was excited by the appearance of a younger lad, in whose countenance there were lines on which his sight seemed to be unavoidably riveted. On consideration, the features were more familiar than ever: the thought then arose, "Perhaps this may be my long-lost child who I deemed had perished in the snow." The father recollected that on a particular place just above one of the knees, his child had a scar; and on raising the boy's trousers, there it was! The two brothers, though unknown, had been playfellows, and were mutually attached. The delights of this singular recognition may be better conceived than described. Let us hope that a life so remarkably preserved was well spent. How justly might the father exclaim, "This my son, who was dead, is alive again; and he who was lost is found!"

On the 18th of January, 1809, we left the shores of Spain, and made the voyage home on board the Hindostan, of sixty-four guns, which had been partially cut down and prepared as a transport. We encountered several heavy gales during the passage, but were mercifully preserved from a watery grave. It was on a Sabbath evening that the Light-house near

Plymouth became visible from deck: it is built on a ledge of rock, about eighteen miles from the harbour, and gave us cheering proof that we were nearing the land we loved. After remaining at anchor for a short time, it was judged advisable to proceed up the Channel; we accordingly weighed, and stood for Portsmouth, at which place the shattered remains of our regiment were safely landed. Aware of the deplorable figure we made, the debarkation was cleverly effected under cover of the night. The pride which urged this method was, I trust, excusable: such a legion of ragged warriors I should think never before approached this or any other land; we were therefore glad to escape observation, and march quickly into barracks. Our old clothes, by far too bad for amendment, were speedily burned, together with a countless company of Spanish insects thereunto appertaining, and which, to our oft-repeated sorrow, we were never able fully to eject. A few weeks' residence on shore restored us to society and our friends; and in a period of time marvellously short we held ourselves ready for service either at home or abroad.

Time rolled rapidly away, and though our stay in England was extended to the space of several months, such was the buoyancy of our spirits, and the general hilarity, that it had passed like a summer's day. The business of recruiting our ranks had gone on so rapidly that by the end of May we mustered a thousand rank and file; nor were our arms in the least danger of contracting rust; firing at a target was an everyday exercise; field-days were frequently appointed, and the note of warlike preparation was familiar and agreeable. I am sorry to say that my boasting cannot extend to the morals of my friends. Cards and

dice, with other games of chance, connected with the intemperance and dissipation of which they are the usual forerunners, consumed the time of most of