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SOME of the families of the first respectability, whom I had occasion to mention before, as being so anxious to get over to the Continent in time to be present at the opening of the campaign, were at Brussels on the eventful Saturday, (as is by no means improbable,) when the Prussian horsemen came galloping into the town, cutting their horses with their sabres to expeditate their flight, I think it very likely that they would lose no time in turning their faces again to their own happy country, and be glad to mix with the promiscuous throng.

Sunday came, and the battle about nine miles off began to roar. It was described by the inhabitants of Brussels as one uninterrupted peal of thunder in their ears for eight hours

“Then great events were in the gale,

“And each hour brought a varying tale.”

But the fears of the inhabitants always made the French successful—What then must they have felt when the English baggage passed through Brussels, and crowded the road to Antwerp. No wonder that the rumour was then believed that the French had gained a complete victory. The entire popula- tion were now to fly, a satisfactory piece of evidence of no great attachment to the French. We are lost, we are lost, was the only cry to be heard among the inhabitants. My friend resolved on flight on his lady’s account, and had the extraordinary fortune to reach Mechline, about 15 miles, unhurt. They got a place in the track boat on the canal; and being close to the road, saw all its horrors: When horses fell, the waggon wheels crushed the