merciless and insulting invaders. The British moved forward this day,
and will enter France to-morrow. Eight hundred lion-mettled and noble
sons of Britain have fallen by the side of _thirty thousand_ of their
own brave soldiers! It has been a dear-earned victory to England; a
dread tragedy, in the small circumference of three miles! The veterans
of the Peninsular campaign assert that those scenes of carnage were less
cruel. This city, where pleasure so lately reigned, now presents only
the images of death. _Vraiment nous respirons la mort dans les rues!_
L'Hôtel-de-Ville, the hospitals, and some of the churches, are already
occupied by the wounded; wagons full remaining in the streets, and many
sitting on _the steps of the houses_, looking round in vain for
immediate succour!

Our escape has been mavellous, for Napoleon's plan was to penetrate to
Bruxelles, and to surprise the Duke and his staff at the ball, when
surrounded by the British _belles_; for he had his spies to report even
the hour of our pastimes, and he reckoned upon a rise of the Belgians in
his favour. For three days and nights we expected the enemy to enter;
treachery reigned around us, and false reports augmented our alarms, as
we knew the terrible numbers of the French forces. It was Bulow and his
corps that protected us from that calamity. On the Saturday we took
refuge within the city, from the scenes of horror before our villa.
Baggage-wagons of the different regiments advancing--the rough chariots
of agriculture, with the dead and the dying, disputing for the
road--officers on horseback wounded! I spoke to one: 'twas Colonel
C----, of the Scotch brigade; he replied with his wonted urbanity to my
inquiries--gave me his hand--"I am shot through the body--adieu for
ever!" He left me petrified with horror, and I saw him no more! One hour
afterwards I sent to his apartment--the gallant veteran had expired as
they lifted him from his horse!