tic gap made in the French army, the English grape and Prussian grape lending mutual aid, extermination, disaster in front, disaster in flank, the Guard entering into line amid this terrible crumbling. Feeling that they were going to their death, they cried out: Vive l'Empereur! There is nothing more touching in history than this death agony bursting forth in acclamations. In the gathering night, on a field near Genappe, Bernard and Bertrand seized by a flap of his coat and stopped a haggard, thoughtful, gloomy man, who, dragged thus far by the current of the rout, had dismounted, passed the bridle of his horse under his arm, and with a bewildered eye was turning alone toward Waterloo. It was Napoleon, endeavoring to advance again, mighty somnambulist of a vanished dream. The years all things else, Have taught some sweet, some bitter lessons, none miserly. - J. R. LOWELL. THE EVE OF WATERLOO LORD BYRON There was a sound of revelry by night, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell! Did ye not hear it?-No; 'twas but the wind, On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet To chase the glowing hours with flying feet. But hark! that heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat; And nearer, clearer, deadlier, than before; Arm! arm! it is-it is the cannon's opening roar. Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering with white lips, "The foe! They come ! they come!" The next morning we had our third and last chance at a hippo. It is distinctly a hard-luck story. We had just gone on the bridge for breakfast when we saw him walking slowly from us along an island of white sand as flat as your hand, and on which he loomed large as a haystack. Captain Jensen was a true sportsman. He jerked the bell to the engine-room, and at full speed the Deliverance raced for the shore. The hippo heard us, and, like a baseball player caught off base, tried to get back to the river. Captain Jensen danced on the deck plate: "Schoot it! schoot it!" he yelled, "Schoot it!" When Anfossi and I fired, the Deliverance was a hundred yards from the hippo, and the hippo was not five feet from the bank. In another instant, he would have been over it and safe. But when we fired, he went down as suddenly as though a safe had dropped on him. Except that he raised his head, and rolled it from side to side, he remained perfectly still. From his actions, or lack of actions, it looked as though one of the bullets had broken his back; and when the blacks saw he could not move they leaped and danced and shrieked. To them the death of the big beast promised much chop. But Captain Jensen was not so confident. "Schoot it,” he continued to shout, "we lose him yet! schoot it!" My gun was an American magazine rifle, holding five cartridges. We now were very near the hippo, and I shot him in the head twice, and, once, when he opened them, in the jaws. At each shot his head would jerk with a quick toss of pain, and at the sight the blacks screamed with delight that was primitively savage. After the last shot, when Captain Jensen had brought the Deliverance broadside to the bank, the hippo ceased to move. The boat had not reached the shore before the |