to reply with effect to the British fire. But Maitland's brigade kept showering in volley after volley with deadly rapidity. The decimated column grew disordered in its vain efforts to expand itself into a more efficient formation. The right word was given at the right moment to the British for the bayonet-charge, and the brigade sprang forward with a loud cheer against their dismayed antagonists. In an instant the compact mass of the French spread out into a rabble, and they fled back down the hill, pursued by Maitland's men, who, however, returned to their position in time to take part in the repulse of the second column of the Imperial Guard. [This column also advanced with great spirit and firmness but met with such strenuous opposition that it, like its predecessor, broke and fled.]

But the battle was not yet won. Napoleon had still some battalions in reserve near La Belle Alliance. He was rapidly rallying the remains of the first column of his Guards, and he had collected into one body the remnants of the various corps of cavalry, which had suffered so severely in the earlier part of the day. The duke instantly formed the bold resolution of now himself becoming the assailant, and leading his successful, though enfeebled, army forward, while the disheartening effect of the repulse of the Imperial Guard on the French army was still strong, and before Napoleon and Ney could rally the beaten veterans themselves for another and a fiercer charge. As the close approach of the Prussians now completely protected the duke's left, he had drawn some reserves of horse from that quarter, and he had a brigade of Hussars, under Vivian, fresh and ready at hand. Without a moment's hesitation, he launched these against the cavalry near La Belle Alliance. The charge was as successful as it was daring; and as there was now no hostile cavalry to check the British infantry in a forward movement, the duke gave the long-wished-for command for a general advance of the army along the whole line upon the foe.

It was now past eight o'clock, and for nine deadly hour. had the British and German regiments stood unflinching under the fire of artillery, the charge of cavalry, and every variety of assault that the compact columns or the scattered tirailleurs of the enemy's infantry could inflict. As they joyously sprang forward against the discomfited masses of the French, the setting sun broke through the clouds, which had obscured the sky during the greater part of the day, and glittered on the bayonets of the allies, while they in turn poured down into the valley and toward the heights that were held by the foe. Almost the whole of the French host was now in irretrievable confusion. The Prussian army was coming more and more rapidly forward on their right, and the Young Guard, which had held Planchenoit so bravely, was at last compelled to give way. Some regiments of the Old Guard in vain endeavored to form in squares. They were swept away to the rear; and then Napoleon himself fled from the last of his many fields, to become, in a few weeks, a captive and an exile.

The battle was lost by France past all recovery. The victorious armies of England and Prussia, meeting on the scene of their triumph, continued to press forward and overwhelm every attempt that was made to stem the tide of ruin. The British army, exhausted by its toils and suffering during that dreadful day, did not urge the pursuit beyond the heights which the enemy had occupied. But the Prussians drove the fugitives before them throughout the night. And of the magnificent host which had that morning cheered their emperor in confident expectation of victory, very few were ever assembled again in arms. Their loss, both in the field and in the pursuit, was immense; and the greater number of those who escaped, dispersed as soon as they crossed the frontier.

The army under the duke of Wellington lost nearly fifteen thousand men in killed and wounded on this terrible day of

battle. The loss of the Prussian army was nearly seven thouAt such a fearful price was the deliverance of

sand more.
Europe purchased.

LX.

CORONATION OF QUEEN VICTORIA.—Greville.

[At the close of the Napoleonic wars a long era of peace and prosperity dawned for England. While many of the continental countries were convulsed by revolution during the decade, from 1820 to 1830, in England the causes of popular discontent were to a great degree removed by wise legislation and a skillful foreign policy. The period is well characterized by such measures as the great Catholic Emancipation Act of 1829, and the still more important Reform Bill of 1832. The latter measure, it is true, was not as thorough as the Radical party desired; but their dissatisfaction was not great enough to mar the general and genuine enthusiasm with which the nation welcomed its young queen to the throne.]

June 27th, 1838.-There never was any thing seen like the state of this town; it is as if the population had been on a sudden quintupled; the uproar, the confusion, the crowd, the noise, are indescribable. Horsemen, footmen, carriages squeezed, jammed, intermingled, the pavement blocked up. with timbers, hammering and knocking, and falling fragments stunning the ears and threatening the head; not a mob here and there, but the town all mob, thronging, bustling, gaping, and gazing at every thing, at any thing, or at nothing; the park one vast encampment, with banners floating on the tops of the tents; and still the roads are covered, the railroads loaded with arriving multitudes. From one end of the route of the royal procession to the other, from the top of Piccadilly to Westminster Abbey, there is a vast line of scaffolding; the noise, the movement, the restlessness are incessant and universal; in short, it is very curious, but uncommonly tiresome, and the sooner it is over the better. There has been a grand

bother about the embassadors forming part of the royal procession. They all detest it, think they ought not to have been called upon to assist, and the poor representatives of the smaller courts do not at all fancy the expense of fine equipages, or the mortification of exhibiting mean ones. This arrangement was matter of negotiation for several days, and (the Lord knows why) the government pertinaciously insisted on it. Public opinion has declared against it, and now they begin to see that they have done a very foolish thing, odious to the corps diplomatique and unpleasing to the people.

June 29th.-The coronation (which, thank God, is over) went off very well. The day was fine, without heat or rain— the innumerable multitude which thronged the streets orderly and satisfied. The appearance of the abbey was beautiful, particularly the benches of the peeresses, who were blazing with diamonds. The entry of Soult* was striking. He was saluted with a murmur of curiosity and applause as he passed through the nave, and nearly the same as he advanced along the choir. His appearance is that of a veteran warrior, and he walked alone, with his numerous suite following at a respectful distance, preceded by heralds and ushers, who received him with marked attention, more certainly than any of the other embassadors. The queen looked very diminutive, and the effect of the procession itself was spoiled by being too crowded; there was not interval enough between the queen and the lords and others going before her. The bishop of London (Blomfield) preached a very good sermon. ferent actors in the ceremonial were very imperfect in their parts, and had neglected to rehearse them. Lord John Thynne, who officiated for the dean of Westminster, told me that nobody knew what was to be done except the archbishop and himself (who had rehearsed), Lord Willoughby (who is experienced in such matters), and the duke of Wellington,

The dif

* Marshal Soult, once the antagonist of Wellington in Spain, represented the king of the French on this occasion.

and, consequently, there was a continual difficulty and embarrassment, and the queen never knew what she was to do next. They made her leave her chair and enter into St. Edward's Chapel before the prayers were concluded, much to the discomfiture of the archbishop. She said to John Thynne, “Pray tell me what I am to do, for they don't know;” and at the end, when the orb was put into her hand, she said to him, “What am I to do with it?" "Your majesty is to carry it, if you please, in your hand." "Am I?” she said; “it is very heavy.” The ruby ring was made for her little finger instead of the fourth, on which the rubric prescribes that it should be put. When the archbishop was to put it on, she extended the former, but he said it must be on the latter. She said it was too small, and she could not get it on. He said it was right to put it there, and, as he insisted, she yielded, but had first to take off her other rings, and then this was forced on; but it hurt her very much, and as soon as the ceremony was over, she was obliged to bathe her finger in iced water in order to get it off.

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The noise and confusion were very great when the medals were thrown about by Lord Surrey, every body scrambling with all their might, and none more vigorously than the maids of honor. There was a great demonstration of applause when the duke of Wellington did homage. Lord Rolle, who is between eighty and ninety, fell down as he was getting up the steps of the throne. Her first impulse was to rise, and when afterward he came again to do homage, she said: May I not get up and meet him?" and then rose from the throne, and advanced down one or two of the steps to prevent his coming up, an act of graciousness and kindness which made a great sensation. It is, in fact, the remarkable union of naïveté, kindness, nature, good nature, with propriety and dignity, which makes her so admirable and so endearing to those about her, as she certainly is. I have been repeatedly told that they are all warmly attached to her, but that all feel the