lady's side seems to be an attendant--so I judge from her dress, and
her air of respectful reserve. The lady is in mourning; and her
countenance expresses sorrow. At first she does not look up; so that I
believe she is not aware of our approach, until she hears the measured
beating of our horses' hoofs. Then she raises her eyes to settle them
painfully on our triumphal equipage. Our decorations explain the case
to her at once; but she beholds them with apparent anxiety, or even
with terror. Some time before this, I, finding it difficult to hit a
flying mark when embarrassed by the coachman's person and reins
intervening, had given to the guard a "Courier" evening paper,
containing the gazette, for the next carriage that might pass.
Accordingly he tossed it in, so folded that the huge capitals
expressing some such legend as GLORIOUS VICTORY might catch the eye at
once. To see the paper, however, at all, interpreted as it was by our
ensigns of triumph, explained everything; and, if the guard were right
in thinking the lady to have received it with a gesture of horror, it
could not be doubtful that she had suffered some deep personal
affliction in connexion with this Spanish war.

Here, now, was the case of one who, having formerly suffered, might,
erroneously perhaps, be distressing herself with anticipations of
another similar suffering. That same night, and hardly three hours
later, occurred the reverse case. A poor woman, who too probably would
find herself, in a day or two, to have suffered the heaviest of
afflictions by the battle, blindly allowed herself to express an
exultation so unmeasured in the news and its details as gave to her the
appearance which amongst Celtic Highlanders is called _fey_. This
was at some little town where we changed horses an hour or two after
midnight. Some fair or wake had kept the people up out of their beds,
and had occasioned a partial illumination of the stalls and booths,