feet in height, has been raised to commemorate the battle, in front of the heights which formed the allied position, in the construction of which the soil and substratum have been removed to the depth of about six feet for a considerable extent. This, which is the only feature of difference, is generally much regretted, and especially by military men. A chain of height, which in military parlance signifies a line of elevated ground or a series of continuous hills, by no means steep or abrupt, lies near to the village of Waterloo, and, inclining to the form of a crescent, appears a little to enclose it. This spot, known as the Heights of Mount St. Jean, was occupied by Wellington's army, which, formed in line, extended about a mile and a half from right to left; while at a distance of some two or three hundred yards to the rear, reserve troops were disposed in hollow ground, secure from the enemy's fire. In front of these heights, the ground gradually sloping becomes a valley, varying from three quarters to a mile and a quarter in breadth, and again rises to another chain of similar form and nearly parallel to it. The latter consequently forms a curve round the first, and presents a more extended position, which was accordingly occupied by the French with a line of about two miles and a quarter in length. It will be borne in mind that, although the country is cultivated, bearing crops of wheat, barley, and rye, there are few hedges or rows of trees to intercept the view; it has therefore the appearance of an open plain.

We now took a survey of Hougomont. It is a good-sized brick-built farmstead; the dwelling-house, offices, and out-houses form a hollow square, surrounding a spacious yard. Behind it, stretching out in the form of an oblong parallelogram towards the heights, which were occupied by the allies, is the orchard, an enclosure of four acres, surrounded by a wall about breast-high. The chateau and grounds afforded an outpost of great strength, and of the first importance to the line in its rear. It is situated almost in the centre of the valley, but rather nearer to the Heights of Mount St. Jean and to the right wing of the allies, with which it is in part connected by a wide hollow way, guarded on one side by a fence, under cover of which troops could pass to it from the main body in security. It was then also protected by a dense wood or plantation on the side opposite to the French batteries, which completely prevented their fire from being directed upon it; while, being exposed behind to those of the allies, the "blue jackets," as our guide termed the French troops, no sooner forced their way into the orchard, which they succeeded in doing more than once during the awful struggle which long continued for its possession, than our guns made fearful havoc in their ranks. A few trees only remain to mark the boundary of the wood. The buildings still exist, and bear numerous marks of the severe assault and obstinate defence which occasioned such fearful carnage within and around the walls. The upper part of its principal entrance, consisting of a pair of large wooden gates, the lower parts being new, is pierced with bullets. The surface of the walls exhibits the effects of musketry in every direction, and the trees in the orchard are living witnesses of the scene, many of them exhibiting as many as three and four perforations each, the work of balls of various sizes.

There are also other places of much interest. The farm of La Haye Sainte, the spot from which Buonaparte observed the movement of his battalions, that upon which he formed his reserved guard of veterans, men who had earned laurels beneath his eye in almost every country in Europe,

but who had never yet met British troops. I questioned our guide closely respecting the particulars of this last grand effort to carry the day. The man had by no means outlived his enthusiastic feelings, and, though necessarily acting the showman on this occasion, there was none of the careless demeanour and monotonous recital so common to the race.

Our

Tracing with his stick upon the sand a plan of the attack, as well as the movements of the opposing lines, he answered fully every inquiry, and seemed satisfied with nothing short of communicating to his companions his own fervid conception.of the scene. I had asked him, "Can you tell me what was the general feeling of the British troops when they saw the Old Guard' coming across the valley, and how did they receive the attack?" The substance of his words, which I wrote from memory before the close of the day, was nearly as follows: "We saw them come up, sir, as regular as on parade, their officers counting the time, and the men stepping as correctly as if they had nothing else to think of. They were about eight or nine minutes crossing the valley after Napoleon left them. Marshal Ney brought them up in a column, as near as I can say about one hundred and twenty men deep, in companies, altogether about seven hundred yards long. lads were right glad to see them. They knew that sharp work was coming, but nine out of ten would have been disappointed not to have met the 'Guard.' As soon as they saw them plain, they gave 'em one hearty cheer. Our line opened in the centre, opposite the head of the column, uncovering a tremendous battery charged with grape and canister, and the right wheeling forward prepared to take them in flank. Not a shot was fired from our ranks till they were within a hundred yards. The word was given, every muzzle blazed upon them, and not a bullet but must have told. They staggered for a moment, but were rallied by the officers, and again came on in double quick time. Our Guards advanced. They met the English bayonet, point to point. 'Twas with them as it always has been: their first rank faltered, then fell; the second followed-the mass turned in confusion while attempting to deploy; our whole line moved forward, and the Old Guard' fled in all directions. The encounter did not last five minutes."

Such was the fate of the last column which Napoleon was permitted to send against an opponent. It was his favourite movement, and had won him many a day; and here it was that he had been foiled by English troops, though acting with chosen veterans, his old companions in arms. No wonder that English travellers indulge a little national pride at Waterloo. Yet, apart from this feeling, there are associations with a great battle-field worthy to be thought on. And these are excited, not so much by the sight of urn or monument, which may be seen bearing witness that some of noble birth fell there; for the whole is one great cemetery-a place where, in one day, fifty thousand human beings found soldiers' graves. And strange it is that now there are thousands more who long to re-enact the scene for the glory and the honour of it. And a painful proof it is of the world's ignorance that, even to-day, a civilized people, as we conventionally express it, delight to defy their brethren to contests of physical force, and nurture sentiments so replete with danger to mankind, that an individual acting upon them is, by universal consent, consigned to the keeping of the civil power, and called a ruffian, not a hero. And it might be worth the while of some to inquire whether the masses of rank and file made an estimate of

the idealism, called military glory, after the action in any way differing from that which they held before, and whether their experience of the stern realities of war should teach us truth.

But to return to the field. After a walk of some three or four miles, we made the ascent of the artificial mound before alluded to, which is accomplished by a rude flight of steps. Its summit bears an enormous lion in stone, the pedestal of which may be surmounted by means of a ladder. It is not the British animal which so loftily surveys Waterloo, but one of the species found in the Arms of Belgium-an unfortunate creature with its tail between its legs, and decidedly one with which our king of beasts would disclaim any connexion. From this elevation, a fine view is obtained, and every point seen at once. Immediately beneath, on the right, is Hougomont; in front, La Belle Alliance, the centre of the French position; the roads to Nivelles and Charleroi. On the horizon are Namur and Quatre Bras, not less than twelve miles distant; and on the left, stretching to the rear, the wood of Soignies, from whence Blucher and the Prussians appeared towards the close of the day. Before leaving the mound, at its foot, stands a cottage, which the traveller is expected to enter, for the purpose of attaching his name to the visitor's-book, and in which may be found some well-known autographs.

Strangers are invited by the peasantry to purchase relics of the battle, such as bullets, gunlocks, &c.; indeed, these are abundant throughout the neighbourhood. We were introduced by our guide to his own "Waterloo Museum," including military plans, pictures, and portraits, in great variety, as well as swords, bayonets, and fire-arms, for the genuineness of which as relics he vouches. Upon their merits, however, I will not venture to pronounce. But as to the enormous aggregate of rusted iron fragments which are offered, and readily sworn to, as undoubted relics, I should think that the "true cross" itself can scarcely have been more wonderfully multiplied than the military arms and decorations of Waterloo. An excellent harvest doubtless is reaped by the dealers from credulous visitors: but it is surmised by some that there is a sowing time as well; in other words, that "relics," which are buried in the earth at autumn, will, like port wine, assume the crust of age, and may be in a few months disinterred for the especial delight and advantage of the summer tourist. At the little inn mentioned at the outset, "mine host," a portly red-faced Fleming, entertains his guests, if desired, in the " very room in which the Duke drank a cup of wine after the battle," and will, in addition, point out the identical red bricks which were honoured by contact with his Grace's boots. Enough, and to spare, of all this is sure to be encountered. One soon learns to view it as the effect of a grand combination for the purpose of abstracting their francs, in which they may safely conclude that every man, woman, and child that appears in their path is interested.

We returned to Brussels in the evening. The road was for some distance shaded by the forest of Soignies; and the rays of the setting sun tinged beautifully the rich foilage, and penetrated beneath it far into the maze, gleaming upon the tall trunks till their forms were lost in the deep green shade. Night came on as we rode, and ended our survey of Waterloo.

Н. Т.

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.

(Concluded from page 358.)

We shall occupy but a brief portion of your time in defining and explaining another cause of the French Revolution, which, in opposition to that just detailed, may be styled an immediate cause. In the eighteenth century there existed in France a class of writers altogether different from any who had ever appeared as the instructors of the human race. They formed a new sect of philosophers; and the distinguishing characteristic of their writings consisted in the singular effrontery with which they held up to scorn all past theories and institutions, whether political or religious. Their aim seemed to be to involve in inextricable disorder all those sentiments of the human heart which have reference to social happiness and moral obligation -institutions whose existence and operations seem to make all the difference between the civilized and the savage were the subjects of keen sarcasm and indecent ridicule they laboured to approximate man as closely as possible to the brute. That doctrine, which all lawgivers, in all ages, have considered so eminently conducive to good government, the doctrine of rewards and punishments in a future state-which, while it holds any empire over the heart, must in some degree restrain from crime, was rejected as the offspring of the grossest superstition. The belief of an overruling Providence was treated with the coarsest ribaldry, as though the protection which it spread before the social fabric, in teaching men contentment with their lot, were deserving of the direst revenge in the eyes of men who meditated the entire ruin of that fabric. These writers-we refer especially to Voltaire, Diderot, D'Alembert, Rousseau—were greatly successful in spreading abroad their mischevious opinions, by involving them in the interest of a novel or a tale their fascinating style soon gained for them a wide-spread popularity ―men's minds on political subjects became staggered and confused. The versatility and fickleness of the French nation conspired to give their opinions an eager reception; and there did not exist in France any antagonist power or influence sufficient to neutralize the effect of such productions. The aristocracy were especially delighted with them; and their authors were warmly patronised by men, who were charmed with the brilliancy and originality of ideas, whose practical exemplification in a few years deprived them of their property, hurried them to the guillotine, or banished them from their country. But it was not only through the higher ranks of society that these doctrines found their way; they moved downwards from the apex to the very base of society, making every stone shake and tremble in the descent the ample foreboding of a dreadful catastrophe! When political events disturbed the government, and there appeared a prospect of change, men's minds were directed to it as a consummation for which they had lived-for which they had been educated. There was no reason why the French Revolution should have worn so sanguinary a character, and have been disgraced by atrocities unexampled in the history of the world, but that which arose from the brutality, the recklessness, the insensibility which the opinions above mentioned were calculated to inspire. For when men are taught that they will die like brutes, nothing is more natural than that they should act and live brutes.

In conclusion, we would remark, that one important lesson to be derived from the French Revolution is this, that when arbitrary power

has arrived at its meridian, when the tension of despotism is full stretched, that the effect to be apprehended in almost every case, although the time may be deferred by the different circumstances of different countries, is that the opposite calamity will result, viz., the highest pitch of popular fury. As sure as any cause is productive of an effect, so sure will the cruelty of the monarch in one age be surpassed by the cruelty of the million in another. The power which the tyrant acquired by slow invasions on the rights of man, by the tortuous policy of courts, will be wrenched from his grasp in a day by those who are seldom troubled with the compunctions, or practised in the arts of creeping ambition-like the swing, which may be lifted slowly in the air, when it has reached its altitude, bounds back and ascends again, but at a different ratio. Thus, what ambition takes years in stealing from a people, a people snatches from ambition in a week. The very scenes of oppression or royal debauchery in one age are, as if by a righteous retribution, made the scenes of insurrectionary violence, and royal degradation in another. In the Tuilleries, the Regent of France, with his witty group of infidels and profligates, spurned aside the defences of even an apparent modesty, outraged all decency, and shunned all concealment. In the same Tuilleries, the wildest rabble that ever insulted a king broke open the doors of the palace, beheaded the monarch, and perhaps in the very room where, years ago, the oppressor had devised the means of extinguishing the last sparks of freedom-there they planted the rude cap of liberty on the brow of his descendant. In the city, where the advocates of infidelity were patronized by the court, and caressed by the aristocracy, there arose, in the same century, the form of the same infidelity, dressed in the rude garb of the democracy, and moving to its throne over the crumbled relics of arbitrary power, and over the property of the very peerage which had nursed its infancy and rocked its cradle. From that Versailles, where, in the seventeenth century, despotism shone forth without a cloud of popular discontent to dim it, in the eighteenth, an insulted king, with his wife and children, were hurried to the metropolis amid the execrations of an infuriated rabble; while around them, instead of that glittering escort of fawning sycophants and haughty nobles, which used to circle the equipage of the monarch, savage bands of women, whose frenzied looks received an expression of additional horror from the paleness of famine, and who erected in front, not the silken pendants which used to flutter to the breeze, but the still warm and palpitating limbs of mangled Royalists. The hall of the states-general, where the voice of the haughty Louis XIV. quelled the first murmurs of freedom, echoed the harsh voice of Robespierre and the thunder of Danton; and there the breathless and persecuted Louis XVI. asked an asylum where his ancestor commanded silence and submission. The grandchildren of those soldiers who fought under Villiers, to execute the orders of despotism, were enrolled under the banners of Dumouriez or Napoleon, and performed with terrible accuracy the fierce edicts of their republican rulers. Thus we see when one generation sows the wind, the next reaps the wirlwind. The tyranny and bigotry of the court produced the night of St. Batholemew; the tyranny of the mob cast that night into insignificance by a lengthened night of year after year-the Reign of Terror.

Another lesson to be learnt from the French Revolution is, that an unbridled democracy will be succeeded by the most relentless despotism. The step from the one to the other is so easy and natural that the blindness of