We of peaceful London City have never beheld--and please God never

shall witness--such a scene of hurry and alarm, as that which Brussels

presented. Crowds rushed to the Namur gate, from which direction the

noise proceeded, and many rode along the level chaussee, to be in

advance of any intelligence from the army. Each man asked his

neighbour for news; and even great English lords and ladies

condescended to speak to persons whom they did not know. The friends

of the French went abroad, wild with excitement, and prophesying the

triumph of their Emperor. The merchants closed their shops, and came

out to swell the general chorus of alarm and clamour. Women rushed to

the churches, and crowded the chapels, and knelt and prayed on the

flags and steps. The dull sound of the cannon went on rolling,

rolling. Presently carriages with travellers began to leave the town,

galloping away by the Ghent barrier. The prophecies of the French

partisans began to pass for facts. "He has cut the armies in two," it

was said. "He is marching straight on Brussels. He will overpower the

English, and be here to-night." "He will overpower the English,"

shrieked Isidor to his master, "and will be here to-night." The man

bounded in and out from the lodgings to the street, always returning

with some fresh particulars of disaster. Jos's face grew paler and

paler. Alarm began to take entire possession of the stout civilian.

All the champagne he drank brought no courage to him. Before sunset he

was worked up to such a pitch of nervousness as gratified his friend

Isidor to behold, who now counted surely upon the spoils of the owner

of the laced coat.

The women were away all this time. After hearing the firing for a

moment, the stout Major's wife bethought her of her friend in the next

chamber, and ran in to watch, and if possible to console, Amelia. The

idea that she had that helpless and gentle creature to protect, gave

additional strength to the natural courage of the honest Irishwoman.

She passed five hours by her friend's side, sometimes in remonstrance,

sometimes talking cheerfully, oftener in silence and terrified mental

supplication. "I never let go her hand once," said the stout lady

afterwards, "until after sunset, when the firing was over." Pauline,

the bonne, was on her knees at church hard by, praying for son homme a

elle.

When the noise of the cannonading was over, Mrs. O'Dowd issued out of

Amelia's room into the parlour adjoining, where Jos sate with two

emptied flasks, and courage entirely gone. Once or twice he had

ventured into his sister's bedroom, looking very much alarmed, and as

if he would say something. But the Major's wife kept her place, and he

went away without disburthening himself of his speech. He was ashamed

to tell her that he wanted to fly.




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