vociferous as jackdaws and voracious as horse-
flies, to cicerone you over the field, of the real
history of which they know little, and that
little pervert most liberally, to see a fine
manly fellow of his own nation step forth to
receive him. The Belgian guides are great
dealers in manufactured relics, and one man
professes to have been the guide of Lord
Byron—at which time the said precocious
guide must have been just three years old!
If you visit the field, Serjeant Munday is your
man. He is about sixty; hale, fresh, frank;
upwards of six feet in height, and a gentleman
in manners. He has none of the showman
about him. You go over the ground
feeling as if you had fallen in with a well-
informed yeoman of the neighbourhood, who
is delighted to conduct you over that most
impressive scene, and tell you all that he
knows of it. While he is zealous to state the
real facts of the real history, no man will ever
hear him utter a word injurious to the honour
of the French;—on the contrary, he is the
first to bear cordial testimony to their bravery
and spirit.

With this excellent guide, we drove on,
after a hearty luncheon, to Mont St. Jean,
where we stopped a short time to examine
the Museum of Waterloo relics, which is
kept there by his daughter. Here, besides
portraits and autographs of almost all the
eminent generals concerned in the battle,
including those of Wellington, Napoleon, and
Blücher, there is an immense collection of
arms, cuirasses, clothing, and accoutrements,
gathered from the field. There are gold and
silver crosses of the Legion of Honour,
Prussian crosses and medals, several pieces of
Napoleon's cooking utensils, marked with the
Imperial Crown, letter N., and Tuileries or
Voyage, and the sword of General Alexander
Macdonald, which was dropped by him in the
battle when wounded, and recognised by
himself when he visited the field in 1846, and
having his attestation of its identity attached
by his own hand.

Many and strange are the thoughts which
come crowding on you at the sight of these
relics, and of pecks of bullets, and heaps of
cannon-balls, of bombshells, and broken
lances, and pioneers' axes, which are
collected here. But the field itself demanded us,
and we drove on. Here, as those who have
ever examined a map of Waterloo, or been
upon the spot, well know, the road diverges
into two; or rather the great road by which
we had come from Brussels, goes right on
across the field of Waterloo, to Genappe and
Charleroi, while another goes off to the right
in a perfectly straight line to Nivelles. Along
this latter road we proceeded for about a
mile or so, gradually descending till we found
ourselves in a valley, and close upon the farm
of Hougoumont.

As we traversed this road, we were struck
with the more pleasant and varied aspect of
the country than we had anticipated. We
had expected a flat and somewhat dreary
plain; but we were in a finely undulating
landscape, destitute in a great measure of
hedges and trees, in continental fashion, but
still covered with green corn, and scattered
here and there with villages, farms, and
patches of wood. To our right stood on a
bold hill the quaint church of Braine-Lalleud;
before us stretched skirts of the woods of
Callios and Neavecourt, along a considerable
eminence; to our left lay hill and valley,
which turned out to be the actual battle-field
itself; and below us at our left hand also,
lay Hougoumont amid its trees.

On reaching a cross road in the valley, we
delivered our gig to the care of a boy belonging
to our guide, and proceeded along a lane
having on each side a row of tall trees. The
farm-house of Hougoumont was a few hundred
yards before us, and we were on the actual
battle-ground. Here stood the extreme right
wing of the Allied Army. On the hill above
us, to our right, were posted the French
General Piré's division of observation; nearer,
on the same hill, the troops under Prince
Jerome Buonaparte, with formidable batteries
overlooking Hougoumont. On the ascending
field on our left, the British forces commanded
the other or northern side of Hougoumont,
also with their strong batteries; and still
along the ascending fields, covered then, as
now, with growing corn, stretched the allied
forces for a mile and a half, following a winding
cross road along the ridge from the
Nivelles road, which we had descended, to
beyond the great Waterloo and Genappe
road. On the opposite hills lay the
armaments of the French.

We drew near Hougoumont with feelings
of extreme interest. Never in the histories
of wars and fighting, had a simple chateau of
a country-gentleman been the scene of so
desperate a contest, or had had so decided an
influence on the fate of the whole civilised
world. The buildings are said to be more
than two hundred years old; were erected
for defence, and had formerly been the
property of Arrazola Deonate, viceroy of Naples;
but at the time of the battle the place
belonged to a M. De Luneville, who has since
sold it to Count Robiano. Within the
enclosures of this chateau, six thousand troops,
chiefly British, were posted, and were assailed
by twelve thousand of French under Jerome
Buonaparte. Here the battle first commenced,
and here it continued to rage with desperate
and unabating fury for upwards of eight hours;
in fact, till the grand charge annihilated the
Imperial Guard, and put an end to the offensive
operations of the French. On one side
of the devoted place was Jerome, on another
General Foy, on a third General Rousillon, and
on the fourth the Allied Army. The French
division under Jerome Buonaparte, and the
British troops on the opposite slope fired their
batteries over it, while the two hostile nations
were engaged in the deadliest strife on record,