wounds!" Numbers of the young and the brave, after languishing for weeks in hopeless agony, expired during our stay in Brussels; and it happened more than once within our own knowledge, that the parents, whose earthly hopes and happiness were centred in an only son, arrived from England to see their wounded boy the very day of his decease--in time to gaze upon his insensible and altered corpse, and to follow the mortal remains of all they loved to the grave. The heart-broken countenance, and the silent, motionless grief of one old man, whom I saw under this dreadful affliction, made an impression on my mind too strong to be easily forgotten. Despair seemed to have settled upon his soul, but he neither shed a tear, nor uttered a complaint. I could not even go from the hotel where we stayed to the house where Major L. lodged, without passing crowded hospitals, filled with many hundreds of poor wounded soldiers; and although every attention that skill and humanity could suggest to contribute to their recovery was paid to them, both by the British Government and the Belgic people, their sufferings were dreadful. Many of the British officers died in the common hospitals: they had been originally conveyed to them, and it was afterwards found impossible to remove them. At every corner the most pitiable objects struck one's eye. I could not pass through a single street without meeting some unfortunate being, the very sight of whose sufferings wrung my heart with anguish. Numbers of young officers, in the very flower of life and vigour, pale, feeble, and emaciated, were slowly dragging along their mutilated forms. Upon couches, supported by pillows, near the open windows, numbers lay to enjoy the fresh summer air, and divert the sense of pain by looking at what passed in the streets. But we knew too well, that the sufferings we saw were nothing to those we did not see. Every house was filled with wounded British officers; and how many, like our old friend Major L., were silently enduring lingering and excruciating torture, unable to raise themselves from the couch of pain! Often, as I gazed at the soldier's frequent funeral as it passed along, I could not help thinking that, though no eye here was moistened with a tear, yet in some remote cottage or humble dwelling of my native country, the heart of the wife or the mother would be wrung with despair for the loss of him who was now borne unnoticed to a foreign grave. But let me not dwell upon these scenes of misery; their remembrance is still too painful--though it can never be erased from my mind. When at last we had the consolation of seeing our good old friend out of immediate danger, we dedicated one day to a visit to Waterloo.[20]