DESERTION AND MURDER.

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of the pleasantest evenings I ever spent, but which cost me a good steed, as the forty minutes' work was too much for his legs, and I brought him in dead lame.

The last twenty-four hours have been marked by two events:-one the desertion of a soldier of the 52nd regiment, who left his post whilst on sentry, swam to a boat in the bay, and rowed over to the Spanish shore, where he was immediately seized by a patrol of that nation. The other circumstance which has occurred, is the murder of one Spaniard in a dispute with another, who, in the course of the altercation, drew his knife and sent it through his companion's heart. As this happened a few yards beyond our lines, and consequently in the Spanish territories, we shall not have the trouble of playing hangman to the gentleman.

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CAPTAIN ZUHLCKE.

CHAPTER XI.

Leave of absence obtained to go to Grenada with Captain Zuhlcke-Qualifications for a traveller in Spain-Carteia Algesiras-Road to Tarifa-Camino muy malo-Mountain scenery-Spanish courtesy -Reach Tarifa-Colonel de Abrea, the governor -Colonel Gough and the 87th Regiment-Moorish castle-Veiled women-Drunken horses.

Gibraltar, March 12th, 1838.

CAPTAIN ZUHLCKE and myself have got a month's leave, and only wait for the arrival of the steamer from Cadiz to take our departure for Malaga and Grenada, like Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, in search of adventures. My acquaintances at the ball at San Roque have been of considerable use in procuring me letters of introduction, so that I have no doubt we shall get on swimmingly. My friend is a very good French scholar and plays the

flute-two great qualifications in Spain-and I am now a tolerable Spaniard.

Accompanied by two brother-officers, I went on a trip yesterday to Tarifa, the most southerly point in Europe, and about twentyeight or thirty miles from this. We started at five o'clock in the morning on hacks, the distance being rather too great for our own steeds, and made the best of our way along the beach to Algesiras, leaving on our right the ruins of Carteia, an old city built by the Carthaginians or Phoenicians, some 500 years before Christ, and since celebrated, in the time of the Romans, for its port and fisheries. But, like all sublunary things, its greatness has passed away the spot is occupied by some fishermen's huts, and its site is only known by a few remains of ruined walls, and old coins which are occasionally found amongst them.

We put up our horses at Algesiras, and, whilst the breakfast was preparing, we strolled through the town, and visited the church. Although Sunday, it was too early for any body to be abroad; therefore returning to the "Fonda de la Union," we swallowed our break

fast, and mounted our horses at nine. We had taken the usual precaution, before entering Spain, of being well provided with weapons; so that, as we rode through the town, armed cap-à-pie, on our sorry nags, we cut rather a Quixotish appearance.

The

On leaving Algesiras, we visited the amphitheatre where the bull-fights take place, which I shall, however, take another opportunity of describing; so leaving behind us the two beautiful aqueducts near the town, we struck into the Tarifa road through the hills. road, in fact, was no road, and we had to wend our way over rocks and stones, principally through dry water-courses, which became steeper and rougher as we approached the hills. The consequence was, that on arriving at the Venta del Muchao, the only house on the road, I found my horse very much tired, and having, moreover, lost a shoe; nothing, however, remained but to push on, and we passed through mountain scenery of the most picturesque description. At one time the hills partly covered with furze in bloom, through which ran numerous rills, reminded me strongly

of Scotland; at another, the bare and abrupt rocks transported me into the Deccan, the palmitto and occasional date-tree favouring the illusion, and carrying me back to old times and scenes I could almost fancy myself toiling up to get a shot at a cheetah, or vulture. Such is memory! A bare rock, a tree of a peculiar shape, will carry us back to the land of the past, with all its associations,-but a truce to moralizing.

After passing the half-way venta I have just mentioned, at which was stationed a party of police, called Miquelites, we entered a cork wood, magnificent from the size and age of the trees, which brought us to the banks of a beautiful mountain stream, or rather torrent, called the Guarmasi. The track now got worse and worse, and, from the information of the few country people we met, there was no prospect of improvement. The sight of a Spanish peasant travelling on his mule or donkey is at all times a pretty object, but amongst cork woods and roaring mountain streams, it strongly brings to mind the scenes of Gil Blas. A few contrabandistas (smug