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contained these tidings, the Duke of Wellington seemed to be completely absorbed. After he had finished he remained for some minutes in the same attitude of deep reflection, totally abstracted from every surrounding object; while his countenance was expressive of fixed and intense thought. He was heard to say to himself, "Marshal Blucher thinks

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"It is Marshal Blucher's opinion." Musing thus a few minutes, and having apparently formed his decision, he gave his usual clear orders to one of his staff-officers, and again appeared as animated as ever. But the excitement which entranced the company, as it was whispered that the French had crossed the Sambre, was alike solemn and extraordinary. The Duke of Brunswick, sitting with the little Prince de Ligne on his knees, is said to have been so affected that he rose unconsciously and let the Prince fall on the floor. We cannot help quoting the magnificent stanzas of Lord Byron, describing the scene:

"There was a sound of revelry by night,

And Belgium's capital had gathered then
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage-bell;
But hush hark a deep sound strikes like a
rising knell.

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And the deep thunder-peal on peal afar;
And near, the beat of the alarming drum
Roused up the soldier ere the morning star;
While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb,
Or whispering, with white lips-The foe! They
come! they come !'

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves,
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass,
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves
Over the unreturning brave-alas !

Ere evening to be trodden like the grass
Which now beneath them but above shall grow
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass
Of living valour, rolling on the foe

And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low.

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,
Last eve in beauty's circle proudly gay,
The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife,
The morn the marshalling in arms-the day
Battle's magnificently-stern array!

The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent
The earth is covered thick with other clay,
Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent,
Rider and horse-friend, foe-in one red burial
blent!"

The Duke stayed to supper at the ball; but it was impossible to restore the revelry. Brussels was buried in the profound repose of midnight, when suddenly the drums beat to arms, and the loud voice of the trumpet was heard from every part of the city. The effect of these sounds in the silence of the night was electrical. In every street soldiers were quartered; in every filled with the deep roar of carriages and men. house lights were glittering. The whole city was in the Place Royale, with the knapsack strapped Regiments were seen assembling from all parts on each man's back. Wives were taking leave of husbands with a long embrace; children were lifted in their fathers' arms. Soldiers sat unconcernedly upon the pavement in some places, waiting for their comrades. Others, suddenly waked out of their beds, were sleeping upon trusses of straw, surrounded by the din of waggons loading, commissariat trains harnessing, and drums beating in every direction.

All at once, amidst the uproar, in wound a long procession of carts, coming quietly as usual from the country to market. The busiest officer smiled as he turned to glance upon the old Flemish women, with their comical costume, seated among their piles of cabbages and baskets of green peas. They gazed at the scene around them with many a look of gaping wonder, as they jogged along through the Place Royale, amidst the throng of soldiers and the apparent confusion of baggage and artillery.

That confusion was only apparent. Regiment after regiment formed with the regularity of parade, and marched out of the city. About four o'clock in the morning the forty-second and ninety-second Highland regiments passed through the Place Royale. They were dear to Belgians; for their good behaviour had won all hearts. In houses where they were quartered,

some nursed the children and others kept the, shop; their peculiar uniform enhanced their stately appearance. With firm and steady demeanour, on they went, rejoicing, to battle, their bagpipes playing before them, and the beams of the rising sun shining upon their glittering arms. That was a moment of the deepest interest; for never did a finer body of warriors take the field. Before the sun had set that night, hundreds of the heroic band were laid low! On many a Scottish mountain, and through many a Lowland valley, long will their deeds be remembered, and their fate deplored. Their bodies lie unrecorded in the battle-field, but their names will live for evermore. Not a little of their confidence was founded on their entire reliance on the genius and prudence of the Duke of Wellington. What could not British soldiers do under such a general? What could not such a general accomplish with British soldiers? The Duke of Wellington fully participated in this confidence.

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"When other generals commit an error,' said he, "their army is lost by it, and they are sure to be beaten; when I get into a scrape, my army gets me out of it."

The reaction of feeling throughout the city, when the last battalion had departed, filled the people with melancholy forebodings. The streets which had been thronged with busy crowds, the square of the Place Royale which had trembled beneath the footsteps of ten thousand armed men, accompanied with all the pomp and circumstance of war, are now empty and silent as a desert. Here and there a Flemish driver might be seen dozing in the tilted waggons destined to convey the wounded, and officers now and then cantered along the suburbs, hurrying to join their corps. The Duke of Wellington had already started, in high spirits, in the expectation that Blucher might probably defeat the enemy before he himself could arrive at the field. The townspeople recognized Sir Thomas Picton, mounted upon a magnificent charger, with his reconnoitering glass slung across his shoulder, and the light of victory in his eye.

Now the army was gone, Brussels seemed like a plague-stricken city. Every countenance was marked with anxiety, every heart was beating with expectation. Groups were formed at the corners of the streets, discussing the probabilities whether or not a general action would take place that day. Great was the consternation, when, about three o'clock in the afternoon there canie on the startled air the boom of a furious cannonade. It was certainly in the direction the British army had taken, it was evidently not far from Waterloo! Had the English troops encountered the French? Had the allied armies united, or were they separately engaged? Where was the battle? At Fleurus or Nivelles, Mont St. Jean, or Quartre Bras? Everyone asked these questions, and no one could offer a satisfactory reply. Some who had the command of carriages and horses set off along the road which traversed the sombre forest of Soignies, and returned no wiser than they went; while a thousand absurd

reports were in circulation. According to some, Blucher had been completely routed; according to others, he was gaining a complete victory. Some maintained that 30,000 French were left dead on the field of battle; others that twice that number were advancing to surprise Brussels. One venerable dame, who kept an hotel, in order to be on the safe side, whatever might happen, provided three flags-one the drapeau blanc of the Bourbons, one the English UnionJack, and one the French tri-colour. At the same time she had a quantity of newly-baked bread, under the impression that the influx of hungry soldiers, whether beaten or triumphant, would cause a famine in the city. Some even whispered that the English army were returning in confusion; but the traitors who bore this notable piece of intelligence were received with so much indignation and such perfect incredulity, that they were glad to hold their peace. Some said the scene of action was twenty miles off, others that it was only six. At length, trustworthy tidings arrived from the army, brought by an officer, who had left the field after five o'clock in the evening. The British had encountered the enemy on the plains of Fleurus, about 15 miles from Brussels. The gallant Highlanders had received the onset of a mighty host of Frenchmen; with unshaken hardihood they had fought to the last, and fallen upon the spot where they first drew their swords. The fight had been terrible: the enemy had derived confidence from their immense superiority of numbers. Blucher, at that very moment, was separately encountering the flower of the French army at some distance, and could render no aid to the Duke of Wellington. Meanwhile, the brave handful of British are manfully holding their ground and repulsing every attack, with the fullest hope of final success. The officer's lightsome "ALL'S WELL" sent a thrill of cheerfulness into many a heart.

As the day declined, and the still evening drew on, the sound of the cannon apparently approached nearer; but there was, as it was afterwards found, no real change of position. This roar died away about ten o'clock in the night. The impatience of the inhabitants of Brussels for further news may be imagined. Many English ladies had accompanied their husbands to the campaign, and sat up all-night in breathless expectation. Some of the rich Flemish families occupied themselves with packing up their plate and valuables. There were not wanting ridiculous circumstances to vary the terrible consternation.

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the victory, would be that of receiving back their, dreadful panic seized the waggoners left in clothes unplaited and unironed. Meanwhile, charge of the baggage in the rear of the army, another cause for alarm arose. It appeared that and many of them galloped off with wild and a body of French foragers had actually ap- ominous clatter down the Boulevard which led proached within seven or eight miles of Brussels. to Malines and Antwerp: for a long time, inThese were mistaken for the advanced guard of deed, the Rue de Lacken was impassable. The the French army. Men ran through the city, road between Waterloo and Brussels, which lies shouting with vehement emphasis and gesticu- through the forest of Soignes, is completely lation that the enemy were at the gates, and that confined on each side by tall beech-trees. It Brussels was to be given up to pillage for three was soon choked up. An eye-witness describes days. It really seemed desirable that strangers the fierce struggles of officers' servants to secure should leave as soon as possible. Every horse the portmanteaus of their masters. Multitudes and carriage which could be obtained for love or of camp-followers forced their way over every money was engaged to set off at the dawn of obstacle with the desperation of fear. A wild day. All the barges on the canal departed, scuffle ensued, which might really be called a crowded with passengers and luggage; and battle burlesqued. Numbers of horses were many, unable to procure any other conveyance, killed, and even some lives lost-not to mention walked all the way to Malines. Suddenly long innumerable broken heads and bruises sustrains of artillery were heard rolling through tained by the combatants. the streets; but on inquiry it was found, to the inexpressible relief of those who remained, that they were proceeding towards Waterloo, and not in the contrary direction. Still, the dreadful idea of danger remained-a sort of undefined suspicion that such portions of the English army as had reached the battle-field might have been overwhelmed by numbers, and possibly cut to pieces. That dismay was not lessened when it was known that the corpse of the Duke of Brunswick had passed through the city during the night, escorted by a detachment of his companions in arms, clad in their black uniform, with the death's-head and cross-bones on their shakoes. It had been already hastily embalmed, and the expression of the countenance was said to be most sweet and tranquil.

On Saturday afternoon wounded men began to trickle in from the seat of the two engagements, which had been fought on the preceding evening. It was a melancholy sight to observe them entering houses where they had left their friends and relatives. The latter could not restrain their tears, as fathers, brothers, or husbands tottered in, covered with mud and gore. At the same time a violent thunderstorm came on, followed by torrents of rain, which never ceased for a moment during the whole of the night. The vague accounts which were brought of the defeat of the Prussian army at Ligny, and its subsequent retirement, increased the general terror and confusion. During the darkness and rain, stragglers began to whisper with bated breath the unwelcome information that the allied army had bivouacked on the further side of the village of Waterloo. This news seemed to imply that the French had gained a complete victory.

Few people slept that night in Brussels. Windows and doors were open in all directions, and delicate women, forgetting their usual reserve, might be heard conversing with persons to whom they had never been introduced. Men on horseback were stopped by main force, and questioned as to the progress of events. About noon, on Sunday, a terrible cannonade was heard in the direction of Waterloo, which continued hour after hour without intermission. A

It is impossible to imagine the strong, overpowering anxiety which arises from being so near such eventful scenes without being able to learn what is really passing-to know that, within a few miles, such an awful contest is waged-to hear even the distant voices of battle-to think that in the roar of every cannon your brave countrymen are falling, bleeding, and dying-to dread that your friends, even those dearest to you, may be the victims-to endure the long and protracted suspense, the constant agitation, the varying reports, the incessant alarms, the fluctuating hopes, and doubts, and fears! No; none but those who have felt what it is, can conceive or understand it.

On Sunday evening some wounded British officers stated that they had left the field about five o'clock; that it was doubtful whether the Prussians could come up in force, and that the allied army had been fighting against impetuous charges of the French cavalry and infantry, and sometimes both intermixed for more than six hours. But, a little before midnight all this suspense was at an end. Expresses from the field of battle brought the transporting news that the French were not only defeated, but dispersed in all directions, and pursued by the British and Prussians. The wounded fancied themselves well again, as the glad information was passed from house to house. Many a Highland bonnet was flung into the air, and many a voice shouted in broad Scotch, "Hurrah! hurrah! Boney's beat! Boney's beat!"

The detail of the Battle of Waterloo has been often described by soldiers and civilians, French and English, in prose and in verse. It is our duty merely to narrate some of the episodes of the fight. Those who had witnessed the most sanguinary contests of the war in the Peninsula declared that they had never before seen so terrible a carnage. The French prisoners admitted that the slaughter at Borodino was not to be compared to it. The Prussians said, that even the great battle of the nations at Leipsig was child's-play contrasted with that in front of Hougomont and Santa La Haye. It was with difficulty that the numbers of carriages contain

ing wounded men could be brought from the field through the forest of Soignes. It was not until the Thursday following that the last of them entered into Brussels.

There is a tradition that some curious ladies left the city, by a circuitous route, that they might behold the fearful, yet magnificent scene. They never reached their destination; their easy and well-appointed vehicles were intercepted and filled with dying men, while they were transferred to some of the rough waggons, which would otherwise have conveyed the poor fellows to the hospitals of the capital.

It is impossible for words to do justice to the generous kindness and unwearied care and attention which the inhabitants of Brussels manifested towards the sufferers. Houses were freely surrendered for hospital purposes; the Roman Catholic clergy forgot that they were ministering to the necessities of heretics and aliens; the Sisters of Charity, ever foremost in deeds of tenderness, toiled with unremitting exertion both by day and by night. Some Belgian ladies lost their health, and more, their hearts, while watching over their helpless charge. Nor should the humanity shown by the British soldiers themselves be allowed to pass unnoticed. A foreign writer adds the pleasing testimony, that "The British regiments of infantry, which displayed such intrepid valour in the battle of the 18th, gave, after the action, the

most affecting and sublime example ever offered to nations. They were seen (forgetting their own wounds, and hardly escaped from the sword of the enemy) proceeding to afford all the succour in their power to those who had just endeavoured to cut them down, and who, in their turn, had fallen on the field of destruction. The conduct of the English army is mentioned with admiration, as uniting the heroism of valour to the heroism of humanity"!

These sufferings, however, were not the only affecting sight which stirred the deep fountains of Belgian sympathy. The people had to behold, from day to day, the distracting anguish of those whose relatives had perished. Many of the latter were searching in vain for the remains of the dead; or visiting hospitals and private houses, where the wounded had been received, in the vague hope of discovering some hitherto unrecognized friend. But after all it was joy and exultation that most prevailed. Just in proportion to the former terror and desperation of the multitude, was now the vehemence of their overflowing transports. There was a general interchange of hospitalities, and an almost universal indifference to the avocations of trade and commerce. Such was Brussels long after the British army had marched well on its way towards Paris, and long after the fierce tide of warfare had ebbed from the plains of Flanders.

THE SOUTH BREAKER. (In Two Parts.) PART II,

Blue-fish were about done with, when one day, Dan brought in some mackerel from Boon Island: they hadn't been in the harbour for some time, though now there was a probability of their return. So they were going out when the tide served-the two boys-at midnight for mackerel, and Dan had heard me wish for the experience so often, a long while ago, that he said, "Why shouldn't they take the girls"? and Faith snatched at the idea, and with that Mr. Gabriel agreed to fetch me at the hour, and so we parted.

When we started, it was in that clear crystal dark that looks as if you could see through it forever till you reached infinite things, and we seemed to be in a great hollow sphere, and the stars were like living beings who had the night to themselves. Always, when I'm up late, I feel as if it were something unlawful, as if affairs were in progress which I had no right to witness, a

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kind of grand freemasonry. I've felt it nights when I've been watching with mother, and there has come up across the heavens the great caravan of constellations, and a star that I'd pulled away the curtain on the east side to see came by-and-by and looked in at the south window; but I never felt it as I did this night. The tide was near the full, and so we went slipping down the dark water by the starlight; and as we saw them shining above us, and then looked down and saw them sparkling up from below,-the stars, it really seemed as if Dan's oars must be two long wings, as if we swam on them through a motionless air. By-and-by we were in the island creek, and far ahead, in a streak of wind that didn't reach us, we could see a pointed sail skimming along between the banks, as if some ghost went before to show us the way; and when the first hush and mystery wore off, Mr. Gabriel was singing little French songs in tunes

like the rise and fall of the tide. he rowed, and Dan was baiting the hooks. At length Dan took the oars again, and every now and then he paused to let us float along with the tide as it slacked, and take the sense of the night. And all the tall grass that edged the side began to wave in a strange light, and there blew on a little breeze, and over the rim of the world tipped up a waning moon. If there'd been anything needed to make us feel as if we were going to find the Witch of Endor, it was this. It was such a strange moon, pointing such a strange way, with such a strange colour, so remote, and so glassy,—it was like a dead moon, or the spirit of one, and was perfectly awful. "She has come to look at Faith," said Mr. Gabriel; for Faith, who once would have been nodding here and there all about the boat, was sitting up pale and sad, like another spirit, to confront it. But Dan and I both felt a difference.

While he sang, | good voice, though Dan had never heard me do anything with it except hum little low things, putting mother to sleep; but here I had a whole sky to sing in, and the hymns were trumpet-calls. And one after another they kept thronging up, and as I sang them they thrilled me through and through. Wide as the way before us was, it seemed to widen; I felt myself journeying with some vast host towards the city of God, and its light poured over us, and there was nothing but joy and love and praise and exulting expectancy in my heart. And when the hymn died on my lips and the silence had soothed me back again, I turned and saw Dan's lips bitten, and his cheek white, and his eyes like stars, and Mr. Gabriel's face fallen forward in his hands, and he shaking with quick sobs; and as for Faith,-she had dropped asleep, and one arm was thrown above her head, and the other lay where it had slipped from Mr. Gabriel's loosened grasp. There's a contagion, you know, in such things, but Faith was never of the catching kind.

Mr. Gabriel, he stepped across and went and sat down behind Faith, and laid his hand lightly on her arm. Perhaps he didn't mind that he touched her, he had a kind of absent air; but if any one had looked at the nervous pressure of the slender fingers, they would have seen as much meaning in that touch as in many an embrace; and Faith lifted her face to his, and they forgot that I was looking at them, and into the eyes of both there stole a strange deep smile, and my soul groaned within me. It made no odds to me then that the air blew warm off the land from scented hay-ricks, that the moon hung like some jewel in the sky, that all the perfect night was widening into dawn. I saw and felt nothing but the wretchedness that must break one day on Dan's head. Should I warn him? I couldn't do that. And what then?

The sail was up; we had left the headland and the hills, and when they furled it and cast anchor we were swinging far out on the back of the great monster that was frolicking to itself and thinking no more of us than we do of a mote in the air. Elder Snow, he says that it's singular we regard day as illumination and night as darkness,-day that really hems us in with narrow light and shuts us upon ourselves, night that sets us free and reveals to us all the secrets of the sky. I thought of that when one by one the stars melted and the moon became a breath, and up over the wide grayness crept colour and radiance and the sun himself,-the sky soaring higher and higher, like a great thin bubble of flaky hues,-and, all about, nothing but the everlasting wash of waters broke the sacred hush; and I remembered the words mother had spoken to Dan once before, and why couldn't I leave him in heavenly hands? And then it came into my heart to pray. I knew I hadn't any right to pray expecting to be heard; but yet mine would be the prayer of the humble, and wasn't Faith of as much consequence as a sparrow? By-and-by, as we all sat leaning over the gunwale, the words of a hymn that I'd heard at camp-meetings came into my mind, and I sang them out loud and clear. I always had

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Well, this wasn't what we'd come for-turning all out-doors into a church-though what's a church but a place of God's presence? and for my part, I never see high blue sky and sunshine without feeling that. And all of a sudden there came a school of mackerel splashing and darkening and curling round the boat, after the bait we'd thrown out on anchoring. "Twould have done you good to see Dan just at that moment; you'd have realized what it was to have a calling. He started up, forgetting everything else, his face all flushed, his eyes like coals, his mouth tight and his tongue silent; and how many hooks he had out I'm sure I don't know, but he kept jerking them in by twos and threes, and finally they bit at the bare barb and were taken without any bait at all, just as if they'd come and asked to be caught. Mr. Gabriel, he didn't pay any particular attention at first, but Dan called to him to stir himself, and so gradually he worked back into his old mood; but he was more still and something sad all the rest of the morning. Well, when we'd gotten about enough, and they were dying in the boat there, as they cast their scales, like the iris, we put in-shore; and building a fire, we cooked our own dinner and boiled our own coffee. Many's the icy winter-night I've wrapped up Dan's bottle of hot coffee in rolls on rolls of flannel, that he might drink it hot and strong far out at sea in a wherry at daybreak!

But as I was saying,-all this time, Mr. Gabriel scarcely looked at Faith. At first she didn't comprehend, and then something swam all over her face as if the very blood in her veins had grown darker, and there was such danger in her eye that before we stepped into the boat again I wished to goodness I had a life-preserver. But in the beginning the religious impression lasted and gave him great resolutions; and then strolling off and along the beach, he fell in with some men there and did as he always did, scraped acquaintance, I verily believe that these men were total strangers, that he'd never laid eyes on them before, and after a few words he wheeled

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