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I think I need not apologize to my readers, for introducing here a portion of Sir Walter Scot's beautiful poem of Waterloo :

On came the whirlwind-like the last

But fiercest sweep of tempest blast;
On came the whirlwind-steel gleams broke
Like lightning through the rolling smoke-

The war was wak'd anew.

Three hundred cannon mouths roared loud,

And from their throats with flash and cloud,

Their showers of iron threw.

Beneath their fire, in full career,

Rushed on the ponderous Cuirassier ;
The Lancer couch'd his ruthless spear ;
And hurrying as to havoc near,

The Cohorts' eagle flew.
In one dark torrent, broad and strong,
The advancing onset rolled along,
Forth harbinger'd by fierce acclaim,
That from the shroud of smoke and flame
Peald wildly the Imperial name.
But on the British hearts were lost,
The terrors of the charging host,
For not an eye the storm that viewed,
Chang'd its proud glance of fortitude ;

Nor was one forward footstep staid,
As dropp'd the dying and the dead.
Fast as the ranks the thunders tear,
Fast they renew'd each serried square,
And on the wounded and the slain,
Closed their diminished files again,
Till from their line scarce spears-lengths three,
Emerging from the smoke they see,
Helmet, and plume, and panoply;

Then wak'd their fire at once !
Each musketeer's revolving knell,
As fast, as regularly, fell,
As when they practise to display
Their discipline on festal day :-

Then down went helm and lance,
Down were the eagle banners sent,
Down reeling steeds and riders went,
Corslets were pierced, and pennons rent;

And to augment the fray,
Wheel'd full against their staggering flanks,
The English horsemen's foaming ranks,

Forced their resistless way.
Then to the musket knell succeeds

The clash of swords—the neigh of steeds.
As plies the smith his clanging trade,
Against the cuirass rang the blade.
And while amid their close array,
The well-served cannon rent their way;

And while amid their scattered band,
Raged the

erce rider's bloody brand, Recoil'd in common rout and fear, Lancer, and Guard, and CuirassierHorsemen and Footma mingled host, Their leader fall’n-their standard lost.

CHAPTER IX.

“ So now the business of the field is o'er,

The trumpets sleep, and cannons cease to roar,
When every dismal echo is decay'd,
And all the thunder of the battle laid."

On the 19th, we proceeded about sixteen miles towards France, and entered a town, the name of which I have forgotten. We were billeted on the inhabitants, and obtained from our commissariat a supply of fresh provisions. I here got my wounded cheek dressed, and the piece of iron extracted ; I kept it for some time, and intended to have preserved it, as a momento of the battle, but I lost it afterwards at Paris. After a good night's rest, which to us was quite a luxury, we proceeded next day on our march. On entering France, an order was issued, by the Duke, strictly prohibiting

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