inhabitant. A Belgian grenadier regiment is marching past, their ranks closely locked together, a waggon not in the least heeding them gets quite in the way. The garçon has a sad air, the proprietor looks dispirited. A Queen's messenger in full uniform comes in and calls for dinner, he has come post haste from Berlin, having been allowed to travel with the German troops. After a time our conversation turned upon the subject of the war. "Do you know," quoth he, "my wife only a month ago would persist in calling our last child Arthur Wellesley, and I knew as certain as possible that we should have war."

I must even confess that the connection between the two events was not as clear to me as to the worthy Queen's messenger.

I have been to see Waterloo; strange to say, as often as I have been in Belgium, I never contrived to see the great field before. A well-appointed mail-coach, drawn by four heavy Flemish gray horses, driven by an Englishman, and guarded by a Belgian, who played the British Grenadiers on a trumpet, rattled through the streets, away for the gloomy forest beyond, where Soigny waves its leaves.

About two hours of jolting on the rough stony road, and Waterloo's long straggling village is seen. The church filled with the monument of many a brave soldier who fell upon the field; the hostelrie where we rest and pick up our stout guide, who speaks English fluently with a very cockney accent. The landlord informs me that he will give me

board and lodging and a very comfortable bed-room,

all for five francs per diem. a few nights in Waterloo.

Only think of spending
One would almost ex-

pect at the dead hour of night to hear the rallying bagpipes wail, to see the kilted Highlanders march up the street, or view the grand grim old duke, pen in hand, issue forth from his lodging opposite, where he has just penned his immortal despatch.

Strange how fresh, amid all the varied battles since, has Waterloo been in our memorics.

Waterloo means "Loss of Water," "without water." I asked the host if there was any stream in the vicinity or river. "Yes," he said, with a pleased laugh, and led me to a deep well some 70 feet to the bottom. "Voila, m'sieu, here is our river." We climb up again and rattle on for the field.

And this is Hougomont, the old farm courtyard; the blackened lintel of the large wooden gate still charred with British fire. The old chapel inside, the figure of the Virgin, the names written legion-wise all round the walls, after the manner of Britons; the statue of the Redeemer, and then fastened upon it I can see where some one has fastened his visiting card upon it, having evidently procured a ladder for that purpose.

Great rolling plain of Waterloo; the fringing forest round; the Belgian Lion on the crest of the mound, up whose side we wearily make our way. The white potato flowers in rich luxuriance beneath. "Here," said the guide as we halted at a low ridge traversing the field, "here is the hidentical

spot where the himmortal Duke of Vellington called out 'hup guards and hat them.'"

"We country people," said a peasant to me, "all pray for the success of the French in this war. Feu ma mere used to tell how the Prussians never paid her for a vintaine of eggs that they took from her.” ""Tis une antre chose with the king and nobles—they are for Prussia." "Trois pommes de terre from the field of Waterloo," said a pleasing voice, as one of the girls who sell dreary photos of Hougomont and doubtful relics of the battle drew nigh. The three potatoes destined, as I fondly hoped, for my garden in Kinsale, alas! never went further than Mayence; my five Waterloo sticks, cut from Hougomont as the vender assured me, disappeared at Carlsruhe. I trust it fared better with the ghostly relic in the shape of a skull, which a young Englishman of the party purchased from the farm-house of Hougomont for five francs from the sunburnt chatelaine thereof.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE CAPTURED KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN.

THE BATTLE OF THE WATCHES.

From the Spanish of Tomas de Iriarte.

The guests are now assembled, the banquet table's spread,
A single friend is wanting. "Why comes he not?" they said—
At last with tardy feet, minutes' feet had passed away,
With much excuse and earnest, their pardon he doth pray.
"You culprit, now quick tell us, what causeth this delay;"

"Here is my watch, see, mark it, at the hour both hands now stay,

"I'm the only one among you, that's punctual to-day."

"What nonsense, sir, you talk," thus their voices quick outpour, "Your wretched watch is slow full three quarters of an hour." "I'm sure I cannot help it," quoth he, getting vext; "I'm giving you precisely my watch's silent text

Thus as he then was speaking each noble standing near
Took out his watch and looked, the very truth to clear.
Alas! one backward was a quarter, and one was fast a half,
And some were twenty minutes slow, and others raised a laugh;
For, out of all the circle of watches that were round,
No two of them to point alike could even then be found.
In fine amid the company such doubts began to rise,
They seek a friend astronomer who learned was and wise.
Now quickly his chronometer for them he doth consult,
And laughing-"Half-past three" is surely the result.

The contest now is ended, yet ere they went away,

Unto that goodly company thus did the wise man say—
"Now listen to my moral, each noble cavalier,

If 'gainst the truth it ever did to any one appear,
That citing man's opinions would make decision clear;
It still is right and royal fact that 'neath the summer sun,
Though man's opinions vary God's Word's the guiding one!"

IN the express trains for Verviers-on the frontier
-two Belgian gentlemen sympathisers with the
French who attentively study the Gaulois; these
French papers, by the way, which are destined for
the stranger, are dated a day in advance-thus
Wednesday evening's paper is dated Thursday.

There seems a general lassitude and indifference everywhere on the part of the railway staff. The train halts vingt minutes for refreshments. We all descend. In the midst of the collation the express goes on. I rush after it, a porter calls out something which I can't catch, but suppose it means that it will return presently, or that it has gone for fresh supplies of water; lo! it moves off altogether. Chef de la gare shrugs his shoulders, another train in half an hour. Monsieur can telegraph to have his luggage kept at Verviers-does not know of any correspondence of trains beyond Verviers. I telegraph to have effects retained, including the five Waterloo sticks; and after some delay a slow train comes up, and at last Verviers is reached about eleven at night. The Hotel du Chemin de Fer receives me. Some young Germans flying from Paris; a couple of Englishmen bound for Austria, meet around the table of the salle a manger. Much conversation as to the