t it at the time, than from any feeling as to its real
desert; but when I think of the voice, look, accent, and gesture of the
narrator, I can scarcely keep myself from again giving way to laughter.

CHAPTER XLV.

THE DOURO.

Never did the morning break more beautifully than on the 12th of May, 1809.
Huge masses of fog-like vapor had succeeded to the starry, cloudless night,
but one by one, they moved onwards towards the sea, disclosing as they
passed long tracts of lovely country, bathed in a rich golden glow. The
broad Douro, with its transparent current, shone out like a bright-colored
ribbon, meandering through the deep garment of fairest green; the darkly
shadowed mountains which closed the background loomed even larger than they
were; while their summits were tipped with the yellow glory of the morning.
The air was calm and still, and the very smoke that arose from the
peasant's cot labored as it ascended through the perfumed air, and save the
ripple of the stream, all was silent as the grave.

The squadron of the 14th, with which I was, had diverged from the road
beside the river, and to obtain a shorter path, had entered the skirts of
a dark pine wood; our pace was a sharp one; an orderly had been already
despatched to hasten our arrival, and we pressed on at a brisk trot. In
less than an hour we reached the verge of the wood, and as we rode out upon
the plain, what a spectacle met our eyes! Before us, in a narrow valley
separated from the river by a low ridge, were picketed three cavalry
regiments; their noiseless gestures and perfect stillness be-speaking at
once that they were intended for a surprise party. Farther down the stream,
and upon the opposite side, rose the massive towers and tall spires of
Oporto, displaying from their summits the broad ensign of France; while far
as the eye could reach, the broad dark masses of troops might be seen; the
intervals between their columns glittering with the bright equipments of
their cavalry, whose steel caps and lances were sparkling in the sun-beams.
The bivouac fires were still smouldering, and marking where some part of
the army had passed the night; for early as it was, it was evident that
their position had been changed; and even now, the heavy masses of dark
infantry might be seen moving from place to place, while the long line of
the road to Vallonga was marked with a vast cloud of dust. The French drum
and the light infantry bugle told, from time