must be Prussians--they look blue.” “_Sacre bleu_,” roared the Emperor, “blue be confounded.” His Imperial Majesty spoke polite English with fluency. “They’ll all look blue before I have done with them.” It was the Prussian blue notwithstanding. At last somebody told the French emperor that the Prussians were coming up to have a finger in the pie. “You be hanged!” (_allez rous faire pendre_) roared Napoleon; “Its Grouchy, but he knows better,” and fancying that his Grenadiers had got their second wind, he ordered them to charge like mad. With a tremendous shout of “_Vive le Empereur_,” which means “hoor-oar,” and sounds just like it. They came on the British columns crouched in the mud, and the Frenchmen fancied they had gone down to avoid punishment. “_Ces coquins boutiquiers_,” sneered the Emperor, as he began to cut up a pipe of tobacco. At this moment, the iron Duke, whose ferruginous nature made him turn rusty at times, got quite out of temper, and gave his celebrated order for his men to get up and “Give it ’em hot.” This, of course, decided the whole business. “Confound it,” said the Emperor, looking through his opera-glass, “There some mistake?” He was right. In a few minutes an “aide” galloped up to tell him “that his men were demoralised, and turning like red-shanks.” “It’s all up”--_tout est en dessus_--cried Napoleon, blowing his nose from excess of emotion. “Your orders, sire,” anxiously continued the staff officer. “My carriage!” was the mournful utterance of the unfortunate commander, still busy with his pocket handkerchief. It was Bonaparte’s last order on the field of Waterloo!-- JAMES RICHARDSON, 18th Royal Irish Regiment, Melbourne.