arches, and then leave them in their silent stateliness. But if some night we could pace alone by moonlight these shadowy aisles, and go among these tombs, what thoughts would those be which would fill our minds in this awe-striking necropolis-this little city of the dead! -John Flint.

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO.

He who visits Belgium will find it a very interesting country, and, as it is small, it may soon be examined. Even those persons who are hurrying onward to the Rhine, and are anxious to pass as much time as possible in German towns, would do well to linger a little among the old Flemish cities which remind us so much of past days, and of which it may be said that there is nothing like them in all the world. Ostend, Bruges, Ghent, Louvain, Antwerp, Mechlin or Malines, Ypres, Brussels, Liege, and Namur do not stand very far apart, and a few days spent at each would be found quiet days of pleasure, and of profit to the mind. Brussels is less quaint, less old

fashioned than the other cities: it is in fact "little Paris" -a modern, fashionable, bustling, pleasure-seeking place; and many persons are so desirous to get to it that they rush onward, neglecting the quaint Flemish cities which deserve most attention. Beautiful churches and public buildings in rich Gothic style, sweet silver-toned chimes of bells, heavy Gothic old houses, where celebrated men have lived or died, museums, picture galleries, full of treasures in paintings, colleges, universities, schools, monasteries, and a kind-hearted simple people-these are some of the things in Belgium which deserve notice. A large number of travellers, however, care little for these things; they have two ideas, and two only, namely, to pass their spare time in Brussels and to visit the battle-field of Waterloo. They are almost always English travellers who

anxiously ask questions as to the best means of going to see Waterloo, and whose eyes sparkle with delight when a visit to it is proposed. "I am here at last in Brussels," said an Englishman to me who had just arrived at night by railway, "but now I am here, I declare to you that I do not care a bit to see Brussels. Where is Waterloo? How can I go to Waterloo? I want to see Waterloo. Can I get to Waterloo to-morrow morning?" Had I proposed to him that we should start off to it on foot that very night and walk the whole twelve miles and back, I believe he would have gratefully agreed to my proposal. I often think now that I hear him saying nervously, "Where is Waterloo? I want to see Waterloo. Can I get to Waterloo to-morrow morning?

The village of Waterloo is situated about twelve miles from Brussels, and is surrounded by an open country, in which there are very few hedges. It is a poor inferior Belgian village of stone cottages, and containing only five or six of the larger or better kind of dwellings; its one street is paved with round rough stones placed a short distance from each other, but as it was not paved and the rain came down in torrents at the time the great battle was fought near it, and as the whole English army must have passed up it before the fight, it must then have become a road of deep mud, along which men, horses, and gun-carriages could scarcely struggle forward. The road to Waterloo from Brussels is almost straight, and along each side of it there are small trees, I think poplar trees, planted at equal distances. Like the village street, it is paved all the way. By climbing now and then a bank on the right hand and looking about over the open country, which is here very flat, a trim Belgian farm, with its red-roofed buildings and fields of potatoes, or of tobacco, or of waving rye, might frequently be seen, and these objects varied what, without them, would have been indeed a dull, uninteresting journey. At last the straight road entered the forest of Soignes, in which it is known that skirmishing on the day of battle took place,

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and into which many maimed and wounded soldiers staggered to find places in which to lie down and die in peace, or in which they wandered about bewildered and half blinded trying to find their way to Brussels. The trees in this forest are small and principally beech, not the noble spreading oaks seen in English parks and fields-not "the brave old oaks which have ruled in the greenwood long." After a walk of almost three hours, I saw before me a whitish dome on the top of a whitish building, which is the church of the village, in which are many tablets to the memory of officers who were killed in the great battle. The village was not as quiet as usual, because it was a feast day, and many of the inhabitants, who had been to their church service, were dressed in their best clothes and were now going to a sort of fair and a dance. There was the noise of the beating of one solitary drum, and a man having a monkey was grinding a barrel-organ in the village street. What a difference was there between this quiet day of my visit and the 17th and 18th of June, A.D. 1815, when Waterloo heard the shrill blasts of trumpets, the roll of innumerable drums summoning to the charge and to the mighty shock of battle! The roar of cannon at times must have drowned even those sounds, and the village was enveloped in smoke. Children must have clung to their mothers in terror, and the whole people of the little place must have been preparing to flee every moment from their homes, should the village catch fire or the French be victorious and drive the English army through the village street on towards Brussels. Such, such is war!

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO-continued.

The battle-field or plain of Waterloo, for it really is a small plain, lies quite open, not being divided into portions by hedges, and is a short distance from the village, through the whole of which one must pass to arrive at it.

Wheat, rye, beans, and potatoes are grown on it, and were growing on it when the battle was fought. In the middle of the plain there is an immense mound of earth, formed since the battle by great labour, and on the top of this, placed on a pedestal, is a huge Belgic lion cast in gunmetal-in fact, out of cannon taken from the French— which may be seen at a distance of eight or ten miles from it. Now, let us suppose that we are standing at the opening of the plain, and that behind us are the village of Waterloo, the forest of Soignes, and the city of Brussels. The road straight before us goes to Charleroi, along which Napoleon galloped when the battle was lost, and this road is crossed just where we are standing by the Nivelles road. At this point-the crossing of these two roads - Wellington stood during a great part of the day to watch and direct the battle, only occasionally leaving it to gallop down behind his men to Hougoumont, or to lead them to a charge. Just in front of Wellington was a ridge extending along on the right and left, and on this he posted his army. In front of the English lines was a hollow, and across this hollow was another ridge, opposite, and on this the French army was posted by Buonaparte. The right of the English army rested on Hougoumont, which, at that time, was a gentleman's château or country house.

Let us leave our standing-point, the crossing of the two roads where Wellington stood, as we said, and let us go down this road on our right and visit Hougoumont. Here is its orchard enclosed on two sides by a thick brick wall with a coping of brick. How bruised and beaten and battered this wall is! How many round holes are sunk in it a considerable depth, made by bullets! We see in it also the holes that were made by the English infantry inside the orchard through which to take aim with their muskets. Look at the trees in this orchard. The younger are laden with apples, but the older ones bear no fruit; they are gnarled, shattered, drawn into all sorts of strange shapes, and though the bark has covered their wounds, the storm of

shot and shell, which once passed over them, has destroyed their vital power. Look at the gateways which admit us into the farmyard. The floor of the lofts over them was torn up in places to enable the English infantry to fire down upon the French as they endeavoured to pour into the yard, and has not yet been replaced.* Look at the rafters: they are still blackened by fire and gunpowder. And as we look at Hougoumont, and lie under the pleasant shade of the apple-trees in its orchard, let us remember that it was the "key of the English position," and was taken and re-taken several times during the day.. Think, then, of the great loss of life on both sides which happened at this place-Hougoumont. In this orchard, under these trees, in this what is now a farmyard, yes, in the very house itself, how many who had fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, wives and children at home, here fell, closed their eyes in agony, and made heaps of dead. The lifeless bodies too-what shall we say of these? They must have been thrown into large pits; there was little time to spare after the battle, and being the month of June, the weather was warm. Then there were the thousands of dead and wounded horses to be got rid of. And after the battle was gained, and the news of it reached England with lists of the killed and wounded, think of the sorrow that must have been caused. The churches and the streets must have looked very sombre indeed, crowded as they were with people dressed in mourning for lost relatives or friends.

There is now only one more object on the plain to be viewed, namely, La Haye Sainte, a farm-house, over against what was the French position. This house was, I believe, held for a long time against the French by the German Legion. The road to Charleroi runs along under the white wall and front gateway of this farm. The heavy gates were shot in pieces in several places, but have since been repaired. Before we quit the field, we may ascend by a zigzag narrow path to the top of the mound on which

This remark applies to the year 1856, when I saw it.