on the Sabbath,--that hallowed day, enjoined to be held sacred for the
worship of God, and for rest to toil-worn animals--the British army
beheld the _chevaleresque_ legions of the enemy, in all its superior
numbers, ranged in order of battle on the rising ground. The sun at
mid-day flashed its brilliant radiance over their military casques and
arms. The cannonade then became general; the Duke of Wellington exposed
himself like a subaltern; his personal venture in the strife excited
anxiety; it was in vain that the officers of his staff urged him to be
less conspicuous, that the fate of the battle hung upon his life: it
was evident that he had determined to conquer or die: we knew it in
Bruxelles, and we knew also that the Prince of Orange would succeed to
the command in such a dread emergency; and although we did not doubt his
Royal Highness's personal valour, we questioned much his experience in
military tactics. In the streets every one demanded, "Will Blucher be
able to advance?" and we were fully aware if that veteran General could
not effect a junction with Wellington before eight o'clock that evening,
all would be lost. At nine o'clock the two heroes mutually felicitated
each other at the small _auberge_ of Genappe. But it was not till three
o'clock in the morning that the word "Victory!" was proclaimed by an
_affiche_ on the walls to the terrified population of Bruxelles!

The Prince of Orange had been wounded early in that evening, after
having in the morning disputed every inch of ground against the superior
force of the enemy, and continued to fight like a valourous chevalier
each succeeding day for his kingdom: he has fairly won it. May his
future subjects record the fact in ineffaceable characters on their
memory! The British army had faught thirteen successive hours; they
halted, and to the fresh troops of the Prussians the task of pursuing
the fugitive enemy was assigned: they gladly forgot all fatigue, in
vengeful feeling and relentless retaliation against their former