corn. "Here I'll lie and rest myself; and I don't think I shall be disturb'd by the buzzing of the blue flies! I'll have a snooze, until the Highlanders shall come up."

The party remained undisturbed, as the last speaker had intimated, until about half-past one o'clock; nothing having been done in the way of attack by the French. During the interval, Gray employed himself in watching closely the scene around him, and mentally discussing the chances of the now inevitably approaching fight.

The hour of struggle was near—the pibroch burst upon the ears of the troopers, and up they started.

"Here they come," cried one.—"Here they come," cried another—"the gallant 42nd; look at the petticoat-devils, how they foot it along!"

All stood on the highest part of the ground, to witness the arrival of the troops, who were now within a quarter of a mile of them on the main road. A hum arose. Belgian officers galloped down the road, and across the fields in all directions; the duke was seen riding towards his expected soldiers, and the scene was life at all points. The pibroch's sound grew louder; and now the bands of the more distant regiments were heard; and the harmonious bugles of the rifle corps, mingled their sounds with the others. The long red line of Britons is fully before the sight, like a giant stream of blood on the ripe and mellow bosom of the earth. Picton is at its head, and the duke greets the heroic partner of his glory. The first of the regiments passes close to the troopers, and receives a cheer from them, which found a return in the relaxing muscles of the hardy Scots.

"What corps is that?" inquired one of the group.

"The Royal Highlanders, the 42nd—don't you see they are turned up with blue and gold?" replied another.

"And what's this with the yellow facings?"

"The old 92nd."

"And the other Scotch regiment, with the green and gold?"

"The 79th; three as good kilted corps as ever crossed the Tweed. And there's the 95th rifle boys, as green as the wood they are going to take. And there see the 28th,—and the 44th,—and the 32nd;—that's Picton's division; a glorious set of fellows as ever slept."

"And who are the fellows all in black?"

"The bold Brunswick corps, with death's head on their caps—the undertakers of the French," cried the corporal.

Never did a young hero gaze on a gallant army with more enthusiastic feelings, than did Gray upon the troops before him—the sight stirred his heart-strings. They were within shot of their foe, and half an hour should see them in the bloody contest. He sighed to think that his own regiment was not yet come up, with which he might share the glory of the fight.

One after the other, the corps entered the fields, across the high corn, from the road, to take up their positions for the battle. Neither cavalry nor artillery had they to support them—their bayonets were their hopes; and their wise general placed them accordingly in squares, and at such distances as that one might support the other, while each would protect itself, independently, if necessary. The rifle corps now advanced, to open the business of the day by firing into a field of tirailleurs. The French were not idle at this time; they advanced in masses—cavalry and infantry; while a roar of cannon, that almost deafened every ear, covered the attack.

"They are coming on the centre," cried Gray: "see the cuirassiers—what a body of men! Oh! where is our cavalry?"

"Ay," cried a trooper; "and look, what columns of infantry!"

All now remained in breathless anxiety, gazing on the approaching masses of the enemy; not a word was spoken amongst the well-planted squares of the British. The French are within fifty yards of them, and the battle begins.

"There," cried a trooper; "how our men give it to them!—there's a volley!—look how the horses fall!—see, they can't stand it—hurra!—the rascals are staggered—the 27th are after them—they deploy into line; there the French go, with the bayonet at them, helter-skelter. But observe, at a little distance from them, the enemy's dragoons are at the 42nd—the Scotch open and let them pass; but now they get it right and left. Down they go; bravo! old Scotland."

"By heaven!" cried Gray, "here come the Brunswick horse in confusion, pursued by the cuirassiers along the road, near the village."

All turned to gaze at the point: it was too true: their leader had fallen; they had advanced too incautiously, and were therefore obliged to fall back.

"Here they come, and the French cavalry are close upon them. But see the Highlanders in the ditch. Hark! there—they give them a volley. Down tumble the horsemen!—look! they are in a heap on the ground."

A shout from the troopers acknowledged the glorious truth. It was the fire from the 92nd that achieved the triumph.

The artillery, the musketry, and the shouting of the combatants, became so deafening, that even the group of troopers unoccupied in the fight, and in the rear, could scarcely hear each other's voice. Gray's party mounted their horses now, in order to have a better view of the battle, and from the situation of the ground on which they were standing, they beheld, in awful anxiety, rush after rush made against the British infantry, whose duty was evidently that of firm defence; they beheld wave after wave of blue ranks advance over the rising bosom of the ground, and saw them successively battered by the rocks they assaulted—the ground covered with men and horses by the well-directed fire of the squares. The other divisions of the English army were fast arriving, and taking up ground on the left, in spite of the efforts of the French to prevent it, and thus divide them from their comrades engaged. A "lull," (as the sailors say, when the storm pauses a little,) took place, and both armies stood, as it were, looking at each other. But another and more desperate attack soon followed; the tempest returned with double violence. The mouths of Ney's numerous cannon opened again; the smoke drifted over on the English, and under its cover were seen advancing an immense force, for another struggle with the right of the duke's line, in order to turn it, and possess themselves of the village. The duke and his staff were in front of the 92nd regiment, and the balls playing on them had knocked down several of his aides-de-camp. As the foe came near, the artillery ceased, the close fight began, and several regiments at once poured in their fire: both sides kept their ground, and hundreds fell at every discharge of musketry. The duke now, in the pithy and familiar language of the soldier, cried out to the Scots, "Ninety-second, you must charge these fellows."

The word was magic; the kilts rushed against the blaze of the tirailleurs! Their leader and their officer fell amongst them: but, alas! their blood only enraged the men; fiercely as tigers they rush, and their bayonets sink into the mass before them. The whole fly before them, while the victorious Highlanders pursue them almost out of sight of their general. Alas! many of these heroes fell in their gallant work.

This glorious charge was beheld by Gray and his comrades with delight; their shacos waved over their heads, and their cries of exultation fully showed what a catching thing is the fever of the fight. One of the dragoons now turned his eyes to the wood on the right, which the French had possessed themselves of, and exclaimed, "But look, the guards have come up, and are in the wood. Where did they come from? I didn't see them before. Hark! how they shout; they are all amongst the trees."

"Yes, and they'll not soon come back; they'll keep their ground, I'll warrant," cried the corporal.

At this moment the troopers were somewhat disarranged by a part of the earth suddenly flying upwards in a cloud; it was the effect of a cannon-ball which had struck the ground.