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 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!