rd escaped him;
shot through the forehead." As he spoke, his lips trembled, and his voice
sank to a mere whisper at the last words: "You remember what he said last
night. Poor fellow, he was every inch a soldier."

Such was his epitaph.

I turned my head towards the scene of our late encounter. Some dismounted
guns and broken wagons alone marked the spot; while far in the distance,
the dust of the retreating columns showed the beaten enemy as they hurried
towards the frontiers of Spain.

CHAPTER XLVI.

THE MORNING.

There are few sadder things in life than the day after a battle. The
high-beating hope, the bounding spirits, have passed away, and in their
stead comes the depressing reaction by which every overwrought excitement
is followed. With far different eyes do we look upon the compact ranks and
glistening files,--

With helm arrayed,
And lance and blade,
And plume in the gay wind dancing!

and upon the cold and barren heath, whose only memory of the past is the
blood-stained turf, a mangled corpse, the broken gun, the shattered wall,
the well-trodden earth where columns stood, the cut-up ground where cavalry
had charged,--these are the sad relics of all the chivalry of yesterday.

The morning which followed the battle of the Douro was one of the most
beautiful I ever remember. There was that kind of freshness and elasticity
in the air which certain days possess, and communicate by some magic their
properties to ourselves. The thrush was singing gayly out from every grove
and wooded dell; the very river had a sound of gladness as it rippled on
against its sedgy banks; the foliage, too, sparkled in the fresh dew, as in
its robes of holiday, and all looked bright and happy.

We were picketed near the river, upon a gently rising ground, from which
the view extended for miles in every direction. Above us, the stream came
winding down amidst broad and fertile fields of tall grass and waving corn,
backed by deep and mellow woods, which were lost to the view upon the
distant hills; below, the river, widening as it went, pursued a straighter
course, or turned with bolder curves, till, passing beneath the town, it
spread into a large sheet of glassy water as it opened to the sea. The sun
was just rising as I looked upon this glorious scene, and already the tall
spires of Oporto were tipped with a bright rosy hue, while the massive
towers and dark walls threw their lengthened shadows far ac