company, and her blue satin, piped with scarlet, utterly ruined by a deluge
of holy water bestowed on her by the pious sexton. It was in vain that she
originated twenty different reports to mystify the world; and even ten
pounds spent in Masses for the eternal repose of Father Con Doran only
increased the laughter this unfortunate affair gave rise to. As for us, we
exchanged into the line, and foreign service took us out of the road of
duns, debts, and devilment, and we soon reformed, and eschewed such low
company."

The day was breaking ere we separated; and amidst the rich and fragrant
vapors that exhaled from the earth, the faint traces of sunlight dimly
stealing told of the morning. My two friends set out for Torrijos, and I
pushed boldly forward in the direction of the Alberche.

It was a strange thing that although but two days before the roads we were
then travelling had been the line of retreat of the whole French army, not
a vestige of their equipment nor a trace of their _materiel_ had been left
behind. In vain we searched each thicket by the wayside for some straggling
soldier, some wounded or wearied man; nothing of the kind was to be seen.
Except the deeply-rutted road, torn by the heavy wheels of the artillery,
and the white ashes of a wood fire, nothing marked their progress.

Our journey was a lonely one. Not a man was to be met with. The houses
stood untenanted; the doors lay open; no smoke wreathed from their deserted
hearths. The peasantry had taken to the mountains; and although the plains
were yellow with the ripe harvest, and the peaches hung temptingly upon the
trees, all was deserted and forsaken. I had often seen the blackened walls
and broken rafters, the traces of the wild revenge and reckless pillage of
a retiring army. The ruined castle and the desecrated altar are sad things
to look upon; but, somehow, a far heavier depression sunk into my heart
as my eye ranged over the wide valleys and broad hills, all redolent of
comfort, of beauty, and of happiness, and yet not one man to say, "This is
my home; these are my household gods." The birds carolled gayly in each
leafy thicket; the bright stream sung merrily as it rippled through the
rocks; the tall corn, gently stirred by the breeze, seemed to swell the
concert of sweet sounds; but no human voice awoke the echoes there. It
was as if the earth was speaking in thankfulness to its Maker, while
man,--ungrateful and unworthy man,--pursuing his