You do not here meet with any one in the middle ranks. of life possessing even common information. There are but two classes: the first includes the nobility and clergy; and the second the poor. Where then are you to procure officers? Generally speaking, no dependence can be placed on the first; bribes and promises, it is to be feared, will seldom be ineffectual in purchasing the dereliction of their duty. Fanatic monks and ecclesiastics, you will allow, are not likely, from their habits, to make a figure in the ranks of an army; and the ignorant lower classes, whatever native courage they may possess, and I believe they possess a great deal, can effect nothing of themselves. I shall take every opportunity of writing; and in the mean time remain ever yours. Adieu. LETTER XLIII. BRITISH ARMY QUITS SALAMANCA.-CALIZAL.-ALAEJOS.-A FRENCH PRISONERS MOORE PROCEEDS TO TORO-FRENCH DISPATCHES INTERCEPTED. MISERABLE STYLE OF LIVING IN THIS PART OF SPAIN.—ZAMORA.-THE BANKS OF THE DUERO.—INTELLIGENCE FROM MADRID. Alaejos, 14th December, 1808. WE left Salamanca yesterday morning, halted at a paltry village called Calizal last night, and this morning arrived here. The whole track of country we passed through is very flat and unsheltered; with the exception of some small thickets of evergreen oak, not a tree, or even a hedge row, did we see the whole way. On entering this place, I found Mr. M***, the messenger, just arrived from England, with dispatches for Sir John Moore. As he has been so obliging as to charge himself with a packet, I take the opportunity of informing you that the campaign in Spain has now actually commenced. Last night a party of our dragoons (the eighteenth, commanded by Brigadier-General Stewart) fell in with a foraging party of the enemy, at a village called Rueda, whom they entirely defeated, taking thirty-five prisoners, and killing sixteen; among the latter is one major. Our loss is one serjeant and two horses killed, and two men wounded. Our men are still in pursuit. From a friend, who has received a letter from England. by Mr. M***, I am concerned to hear that you are still sanguine respecting the result of the contest in this country at present things have a most dreary aspect. I have just been to see the prisoners, who are lodged in a house overlooking the square, while a crowd of Spaniards is pressing about the door, apparently regretting the distance at which they are kept by the bayonets of our guard of grenadiers.. These fellows would assuredly put them all to death in cold blood, without remorse, if they could get at them. The prisoners are stout goodlooking men, Poles, Prussians, Italians, Swiss, and French. Several of them had very lately arrived on this side of the Pyrennees, after marching from the neighbourhood of Berlin and Dantzic. Those who have been some time in Spain, state that their army has lost more men from sick ness in Spain than it did during the winter campaign in Poland. Notwithstanding the present severity of the weather, they bivouac constantly, and, in consequence, many of the prisoners' feet are in a dreadful state of mortification, from being frost-bitten. However, not a murmur escapes them. They seem perfectly contented; and the only return which they make to the execrations of the Spaniards standing beneath, is to grin at them from the balconies. The prisoners confirm the accounts in the Paris papers, as to the division of the French army into eight corps. That in our front is commanded by Soult (Duke of Dalmatia), and consists of twenty thousand men. I have just heard that Mr. M *** will not set off today, I shall therefore wait till to-morrów before I conclude this letter, as I wish to give you all the information I can collect. Toro, 15th December, 1808. For some reason or other, at present unknown, our advance upon Valladolid appears to be abandoned. We left Alaejos early yesterday morning, during a severe frost and thick mist, and reached this town about mid-day. The country for some way was sufficiently open to permit the troops to march in columns of companies. After passing through an old town, situated close to the Duero, the name of which I forgot to note down, the road wound close to the banks of that river for nearly two miles; then struck through a plain laid out in vines and corn. On reaching the extremity of the plain, we crossed the Duero on a stone bridge of ten arches. Two of the centre arches had been destroyed by an inundation, and are now replaced with wood. Toro stands on a lofty precipice overhanging the river; the road from the bridge conducts to it by a remarkably steep ascent. The town, which is very ancient, and formerly of considerable note, is still surrounded by an old mouldering clay wall, with square towers and a deep ditch, partly filled with water. The interior is wretched, and dirty to a degree; but, as usual, well stocked with churches and convents. Over the gates of many of the public buildings I observe the figure of a bull, the emblem of the town. The people here, like those at Alaejos, have been collecting all day, with loud shouts, around the house where the French prisoners are lodged; although I ought to tell you, that a week has not elapsed since they permitted a party of ten or twelve French dragoons to parade through their streets, and then depart without a single shot having been fired at them, although there are at least six thousand inhabitants in the place. So much for the courage of the |