three regiments ran
onward, and the mighty phalanx, which a moment before was so formidable,
loosened and fell in pieces before fifteen hundred invincible British
soldiers fighting in a line of only two deep." In this memorable charge,
the standard-pole of the Eighty-eighth was struck by a bullet, the same
that killed Major Murphy, who commanded the battalion. New colours have
since been presented to the regiment, but the wounded pole is still
preserved, and on it is engraved, on a plate of silver, the day and the
manner of its mutilation.

An advance on Madrid was consequent on the triumph at Salamanca, and on
the 12th of August, Wellington and his army reached the Spanish capital.
Their entrance has often been described, but in default of novelty, Mr
Grattan's account of it possesses spirit and interest. It was one of
those scenes that repay soldiers for months of fatigue and danger. The
troops were almost carried into the city in the arms of the delighted
populace. The steady, soldier-like bearing of the men, the appearance of
the officers, nearly all mounted, inspired respect and increased the
general enthusiasm. For miles from Madrid, the road was thronged; when
the army got into the streets, it was no longer possible to preserve the
order of march. The ranks were broken by the pressure of the crowd, and
the officers (lucky dogs!) were half-smothered in the embraces of the
charming Madrilenas. Young and old, ugly and handsome, all came in for
their share of hugs and kisses. Still, although patriotism impelled the
Spanish fair to look with favour upon the scarlet-coated Britons, the
painful confession must be made that as individuals they gave the
preference to the lively, light-hearted Frenchmen. Napoleon was the
fiend himself, incarnate in the form of an under-sized Corsican, and the
_gavachos_ were his imps, whom it was praise-worthy to shoot at from
behind every hedge, and to poniard whenever the opportunity offered.
Such was the creed inculcated by the priests, and devoutly entertained
by their petticoated penitents--that is to say, by every Christian woman
in the Peninsula. But somehow or other, when French regiments were
quartered in Spanish towns, the female part of the population forgot the
anathemas of their spiritual consolers, and looked complacently upon
those they were enjoined to abhor. It was a case of "_nos amis les
ennemis_," and the French, beaten every where in the field, obtained
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