THE BATTLE FIELD OF WATERLOO.

running with all their might and main. Throw them a few cents. There they are, all down in the road together! Ah, did you see that child? As she came at full speed behind them, she tripped, and performed a complete somerset over the whole lump. Stop, driver, stop. Here, you shall have a cent for that, howeverpoor thing-but she is happy now-drive on.

We alighted at a comfortable inn at Mont. St. Jean, and sending for a guide, who could talk English, we started for the field, about half a mile off. We were soon besieged by men and boys offering for sale relics of the battle-field-bits of brass ornaments and buttons from regimentals, cannon balls, &c. "Good, good," 'cheap, cheap," was all they could say for their wares. But we put them back with "no, no”—“bad, bad.” We bought none.

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The first building we reached after we passed the hamlet was a large farm house, which was turned into a hospital after the battle-an extensive range of buildings. The labourers were busy bringing out sheaves of wheat from the garner and setting them in rows by the side of the wall in the sunshine. The ears were fine and full, gathered from the field of blood. With their permission I plucked a few samples, which I brought away.

Passing on, we approached the hill where the road enters the open field. Before we reached it, to our right, on the bank side, was a low long wretched looking cottage, and down the bank side a miserable looking aged woman was walking with tottering steps, leaning on a stick. It occurred to me that we might hear something from this woman, and so we did, for in reply to questions put to her by our guide, we were informed that at the time of the battle she dwelt there she was then a widow, with a boy and girl, sustained chiefly by a cow which she kept in' an adjoining shed. On the day before the battle, hearing

THE BATTLE FIELD OF WATERLOO.

that the armies were coming, she took her children and all she could carry away, and drove the cow before her into the forest of Soignes; but a party of soldiers took it and roasted it for food. Poor old creature! she seemed to remember it as an awful time. We relieved her, and told our guide to tell her that "Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners, and that she must look to him for salvation."

One other little thing I would just mention. Our guide had been told of our errand to Brussels, and we observed that he delayed a minute or two saying something to her, and she replied, lifting up her left hand to give emphasis to the expression. "What did she say?" I asked. "I told her, sir, that you were come for peace, and she replied, 'Ah! peace is better than war.' Would that this saying of the widow of Waterloo were engraved on the doors and tables of every cabinet chamber in Europe.

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In a few minutes we reached the brow of the hill, and then was opened before us, at one view, the whole scene of this mighty and furious conflict. The picture we here give is from this spot, and this was the position of the Duke of Wellington during that dreadful day. A monument to a British officer stands on each side of the road. To the right is the mound of earth or pyramid since erected by the Belgians with a Lion in stone on the top. Just below the monuments is the farm of "La Haye Sainte," for the possession of which they fought so furiously. On the opposite hill, at the other end of the road, as seen in the picture, is the Inn and farm-house of "La Belle Alliance," and four small round corn stacks, seen in the picture, on the opposite side, is the position Napoleon occupied. On the right, below the pyramid, and down in the valley, about half a mile off, is the Chateau of Hougomont—a gentleman's house then, but now in ruins, in the court-yard and gardens of which horrid deeds were done.

My heart sickens as I think of what I heard, and of what I have read, of the doings of that day of slaughter, and suffering, and death.

But I find, though I have not done, that I shall not have space to tell you any more now. There are some other things I mean to mention, but I would not leave off without now telling my young readers that I have written this, not to amuse them, but to let them see what a cruel and wicked thing war is-what alarm and mischief, what cruelty and crime, what sufferings and death it causes.

We ascended the pyramid, from which we had an extended view of the field and adjacent country. It was a beautiful scene-the sun was shining clear and warm, and all was calm and peaceful. What a contrast to the dark and rainy sabbath morning of that day of slaughter. Here and there over that open field of gentle hills, where slaughtering attacks were made and repulsed, we observed peasants, men and women, pursuing their peaceful avocations. Its acres had just yielded an abundant harvest, and they were preparing them for future crops. Toil on, ye peaceful peasants, may no rude alarm of angry foes ever again disturb your honourable labours! There we stood, and having thus gazed and reflected on the now lovely scene, we joined in singing a few verses of my favourite peace hymn

The horrid din of bloody war

Shall then be heard no more;

Nor drum's nor trumpet's martial sound,
Nor cannon's awful roar.

They shall not hurt, nor more destroy

On Zion's holy ground;

But perfect peace, and holy joy,

Throughout the earth abound.

My companions descended. I loitered behind, and marked on the front stone of the lion monument, in large black characters, the words from the angel's song" PEACE ON EARTH, GOOD-WILL TO MEN."

THE MULE AND THE FERRY-BOAT.

In the northern part of this country there is a ferry across Big Black River, at which, as will appear in the sequel, they have a very novel and curious way of propelling the ferry boat. A friend of ours, having occasion to cross the river at that place, started from home early in the morning and reached the ferry about noon. The water was high, and the ferryage being long, he hesitated about crossing; but after much persuasion, and being told there was no difficulty in crossing, he concluded to try it. Accordingly the old gentleman who had charge of the ferry called his negro boy, Joe, and ordered him to catch 'Ned' and bring him to the boat. Now, Ned is a mule that has seen some ten or twelve summers, and, unlike most mules, of a very docile and obedient nature. Ned, having been brought upon the ground, was invested with a headstall, to which was attached two long lines to serve as reins, and a rope attached to the bow of the boat was then securely made fast to Ned's