speedily got over; letters of introduction procured me attention from the commanding officers, and I made some very desirable private acquaintances in my own corps. I took lessons in French and fencing-purchaseda horse-rode about the city and immediate neighbourhood-found Brussels a delightful residence for a young soldier—and while days rose big with the fate of empires, mine slipped lightly away, and the middle of June found me entirely engrossed in learning the rudiments of love, war, and the German flute.

CHAPTER XXIII.

QUATRE BRAS AND WATERLOO.

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, heaped and pent,
Rider and horse,--friend, foe,-in one red burial blent.
Childe Harold.

ON Thursday, the 15th of June, the sun rose gaily on fair Brussels. Without, war was on the wing—within, there was joy and festivity; and yet, strange contrast! some were preparing for the field, while others were dressing for the ballroom. Courier after courier brought vague reports of hostile demonstrations on the frontier. Blucher was in constant communication with Wellington, and all were ready for marching at a moment's notice, so soon as Napoleon developed his plans sufficiently, to show us upon what point the storm of battle would descend.

In the evening, the Prince of Orange reached the gay city," and rode into the Duke's court-yard, and he bore certain tidings of Bonaparte's advance. The Prussian general, Muffling, soon after confirmed the news; and Picton, who had but that morning arrived from England, remained with his military colleagues, discussing over their wine at the Duke's table the probable opening of a campaign, whose close, short as it was, he was not fated to witness.

Night came

"And Belgium's capital had gathered there,
Her beauty and her chivalry."

A Surrounded by a brilliant circle at the Duchess of Richmond's ball, Wellington received a second despatch from Blucher. The moment for action was come, and the intelli

gence was decisive. Napoleon had crossed the Sambre in force, and was marching rapidly on Charleroi and Fleurus. While reading the Marshal's communication, the English commander became wholly absorbed in thought, and his air was grave and contemplative. As if forgetful that he was in a crowded room, he muttered some sentences, in which Blucher's name was audible. Then, with characteristic rapidity, his resolution was formed, his orders quietly issued to his staff, and again he joined the gay group with whom he had been engaged when the momentous intelligence of Bonaparte's advance was delivered.

While orders were hastily despatched, directing the British brigades to break up from their respective cantonments, and advance by rapid marches upon Nivelles, the corps-d'armée in Brussels was ordered to march by the Wood of Soignes, upon the great road to Charleroi. Thus it was intended that the whole force should unite as it approximated to the scene of action, while the Belgian capital should be covered from any effort of Napoleon, and the communication with the Prussians maintained, by the English left forming a junction with Blucher's right.

It was a moment of painful and engrossing interest, when the "turn out" of the bugle was returned by the rolling of the "beat to arms.' The great city was buried in repose. The soldier was sleeping in his quarters-the burgher dreaming of to-morrow's business-while in that gay crowd where he who was to direct the storm of war still lingered, an hundred hearts beat happily," that before another sun would set, were doomed to mourn over friendships dissolved by death, and fairy visions of love's formation, alas! too bright and beautiful to be realised.

I was asleep-but the excitement and uncertainty of the last evening had rendered mine but uneasy slumbers, and I was teazed with irritating dreams. One while, I was about to fight O'Moore across the mess-table-at another, mother Daly upbraided me with broken vows, and brandished in her hand an attorney's letter, in which the pains and penalties of breach of promise were awfully denounced. Again, with

the inconsistency of a dreamer, I found myself before the Old Bailey to witness the execution of my friend Sir Francis, for street robbery; and, while waiting for the baronet's last appearance upon any stage, I felt a pluck at my watch-chain, and detected Lord John in the very act of borrowing my repeater. I was lustily shouting for an officer, when the sharp and sustained rattle of a brass drum beneath my window, dispelled these "troublous dreams." I jumped out of bed, and commenced collecting my habiliments, just as the piper-major of the Seventy-ninth struck up "a gathering" that would have started the seven sleepers, and convulsed any one but an admirer of Paganini.

Brussels was speedily in an uproar-soldiers hurried to their alarm-posts, and citizens peeped from their windows, or issued from the house to ascertain the causes of this general commotion. The streets were crowded to excess, as from every quarter of the city, cavalry, artillery and field equipages collected. The whole of the divisions were speedily ready for marching, and the infantry defiling by regiments, had already taken the road through the Wood of Soignes. By seven all was over; the troops were gone-the streets deserted-for those who, four hours before were figuring at the ball, were now advancing upon Quatre Bras, directed by that harbinger of blood, "the cannon's opening roar."

As our's was a light, consequently it was a leading regiment. Every mile brought us nearer to the conflict. The distant and hollow booming of the guns changed to a lively cannonade, intermingled with the sharp and continued roll of musketry. Other tokens of "a foughten field" were not wanting; tumbrils and country-carts filled with wounded men passed us in quick succession, while many a poor fellow was stretched upon the road, where he had expired in a vain effort too seek assistance in the rear.

We had marched more than twenty miles before we reached Quatre-Bras, where the Prince of Orange had been hotly engaged since morning, and obliged to yield ground he could hold no longer, but every inch of which he had most gallantly contested. The battle was raging. To the right, the left, and before us, cannon and musketry were heard. There was small time for observation, for as they came up, each regiment deployed and took its ground. Nor was this easily done; favoured by the immense rye crop, the French cavalry rushed on them before they formed. In some instances the Lancers charged with partial success-but generally they

received a shattering volley that sent them to the right about, or found the British in square, which, while its ridge of steel was impassable to every effort, threw in volley after volley so close and murderous, that before its ceaseless storm, man and horse went down in hundreds.

On the right of our position, the Bois de Bossu had been occupied by a Belgian corps; but they had been driven in, and the French occupied it in force. This wood was of paramount importance, and it must be recovered-for under its cover, the French could suddenly debouche and seize the Brussels road. The Rifles were ordered to retake it, and in a few minutes we were hotly engaged with the French light infantry.

It was a beautiful affair. Where the wood was thick we availed ourselves of the cover, and, extending, from tree to tree, pressed the Tiralleurs sharply. The rifle did excellent service, and gradually the French lost ground, till we reached the extremity of the wood, when we formed, fixed swords, and pushed the enemy fairly across the ravine beyond it. But, once debouched, a storm of grape saluted us; immediately the cavalry charged; and we were driven for shelter to the trees. Fresh light troops entered the wood-skirmishing recommenced; Gradually pressed by numbers, we in our turn were forced back, and after a fierce and sanguinary struggle, once more the French light infantry possessed the Bois de Bossu.

At that critical moment, General Maitland and the Guards arrived after a fifteen hours' march, and the Duke ordered them to support us, and attack the wood instantly. Wearied, but with unbroken spirits, on they went. Another affair ensued, and for three hours the Bois de Bossu was furiously contested. At last the French abandoned it altogethernight ended the combat-Ney fell back on Frasnes-and we bivouacked on the ground, which we had regained with such loss of life. Fatigued and hungry, I threw myself underneath a tree and slept soundly till morning dawned.

The sun rose gloomily, the rain fell fast, and everything foretold a coming tempest. I made my first and only meal that day on a crust or two of stale bread, with a flask of excellent brandy, which my servant had found in the haversack of a dead voltigeur. It was indeed a fortunate discovery; and I shared it with a brave companion, who, though wounded severely, was too gallant to go to the rear. Most of the brigades had joined us over night, and momentarily

we expected battle. But Blucher had fallen back, and a cor responding movement was necessary on the part of Wellington. It was done; we retired by Genappe; and after a masterly retreat, marked by some slight affairs of cavalry, we halted on the night of the seventeenth upon the ridge of Waterloo.

The march had been very distressing; bad weather, execrable roads, and short rations, were discouraging enough after one sanguinary conflict, and preparatory to another and a deadlier one to-morrow. But we were formed of stubborn materials; the elements themselves could not subdue our resolution, which even amid pain, fatigue, and hunger, proved itself indomitable.

The night continued stormy; it thundered and lightened, and the rain fell in torrents. With difficulty the fires were lighted, and kept up from the supplies that the neighbouring forest yielded. At last the eighteenth dawned. Gloomily the morning rose; but with the first light we were busily engaged. The arms were dried-the rations, scanty and bad, discussed the positions of regiments marked or corrected, till at eleven the sun shone out, and soon after, under a storm of artillery, Jerome Bonaparte advanced on Hougoumont, and Waterloo, glorious Waterloo, commenced!

We were pushed forward in front of the fifth division, occasionally fighting in extended order, as we lined the ravine in front of the position, or, when threatened with a charge of cavalry, uniting and forming square, like the rest of the infantry. The regiments composing Picton's division were stationed in the left centre, behind a broken hedge, which, although it partially masked the position, from its numerous openings allowed sufficient room for cavalry to charge. Some Belgian light troops, posted in front, were driven in about two o'clock, and told that the storm that had been raging on the right of the line, was now about to be directed against the left centre.

We were skirmishing in extended order along the crest of the ravine, between our own troops and the French masses, when a furious cannonade announced the coming tempest, and falling back, we formed on the flank of a Highland regi'ment. D'Erlon's corps ascended the ridge-his infantry in close column, while the cavalry galloped down the face of the position, or rode in between the squares, to discover if any of the British regiments had been shaken by the fire of the artillery. A body of Cuirassiers furiously attacked the