M. Leon Gozlan, one of the most esteemed magazinists in France, has lately paid a flying visit to the scene of his country's most glorious disasters, Waterloo, and has given a characteristic account of what he saw and heard there. We quote a part of it, in which he describes a knavish practice of which great numbers are every year made victims. M. Gozlan has just passed through the Brussels _faubourg_ Louisa, and is oppressed with most melancholy reflections, when his coachman addresses him-- "Sir," exclaimed my conductor, suddenly interrupting my meditations, "excuse me if I am troublesome, but before arriving at Mont-Saint-Jean I wish to warn you of a knavish trade you have probably never heard of at Paris." "A knavish trade unknown at Paris?" I replied, incredulously; "that is rather surprising. But come, tell me what is this new species of industry." "You can easily suppose," pursued my loquacious coachman, "that after the battle of Waterloo there remained on the field a large quantity of cannon-balls, buttons, small brass eagles, and broken weapons. Well, for the last thirty-four years, the country people have been carrying on a famous business in these articles." "It seems to me, however, my friend," I observed, "that a sale continued for so long a period, must have left very little to be disposed of at present." "True, sir; and this is precisely what I would guard you against. Those who obtain a subsistence by such means, purchase the goods new at a manufactory, in shares, and then bury in different parts of the field, and for a wide space around, pieces of imperial brass eagles, thousands of metal buttons, and heaps of iron balls. This crop is allowed to rest in the earth until summer, for few strangers visit Waterloo in winter; and when the fine weather arrives, they dig up their relics, to which a sojourn of eight months in a damp soil gives an appearance of age, deceiving the keenest observer, and awakening the admiration of pilgrims." "But this is a shameful deceit." "True again, sir; but the country is very poor about here; and after all, perhaps," added the philosophic driver, "no great harm is done. This year the harvest of brass eagles has been very fair."