because of the malodor arising in that hot month of June.

"There," said our guide, "the Highland regiments lay down on their
faces waiting for the moment to spring upon the foe. In that orchard
twenty-five hundred men were cut to pieces. Here stood Wellington with
white lips, and up that knoll rode Marshal Ney on his sixth horse,
five having been shot under him. Here the ranks of the French broke,
and Marshal Ney, with his boot slashed of a sword, and his hat off,
and his face covered with powder and blood, tried to rally his troops
as he cried: 'Come and see how a marshal of French dies on the
battle-field.' From yonder direction Grouchy was expected for the
French re-enforcement, but he came not. Around those woods Blucher was
looked for to re-enforce the English, and just in time he came up.
Yonder is the field where Napoleon stood, his arm through the reins of
the horse's bridle, dazed and insane, trying to go back." Scene of a
battle that went on from twenty-five minutes to twelve o'clock, on the
eighteenth of June, until four o'clock, when the English seemed
defeated, and their commander cried out; "Boys, can you think of
giving way? Remember old England!" and the tides turned, and at eight
o'clock in the evening the man of destiny, who was called by his
troops Old Two Hundred Thousand, turned away with broken heart, and
the fate of centuries was decided.

No wonder a great mound has been reared there, hundreds of feet
high--a mound at the expense of millions of dollars and many years in
rising, and on the top is the great Belgian lion of bronze, and a
grand old lion it is. But our great Waterloo was in Palestine. There
came a day when all hell rode up, led by Apollyon, and the Captain of
our salvation confronted them alone. The Rider on the white horse of
the Apocalypse going out against the black horse cavalry of death, and