man beside him, yet seemed in their own agony only to regard his safety. Sir William De Laney fell from his horse, struck by a spent ball;—he said to those who came to assist him, "Leave me to die; attend to the Duke." Sir Alexander Gordon reeeived his mortal wound while expostulating with his General on the personal danger to whieh he exposed himself. Lieutenant Colonel Canning, and many others, died with Wellington's name upon their expiring lips.
As yet, however, it did not seem certain whether all these sacrifiees had not been made in vain. The French, though repulsed on every point, persevered in incessant attaeks, and the British squares, from the constant firing and assaults, presented a diminished and less formidable appearance. One general officer stated that his brigade had lost one-third of its numbers, and that the survivors were so exhausted with fatigue, that a brief respite, however short, seemed absolutely necessary. “Tell him," said the Duke, “what he proposes is impossible. He, and I, and every Englishman in the field, must die on the spot which we now oeeupy."—“It is enough," replied the general; “I, and every man under my command, are determined to share his fate."—"A friend of ours, says Sir W. Scott, "had the courage to ask the Duke of Wellington, whether in that conjuneture he looked often to the woods from which the Prussians were expected to issue? 'No,' was the answer, 'I looked oftener at my watch than at any thing else. I knew if my troops could maintain their position till night, that I must be joined by Blueher before morning, and we would not have left Bonaparte an army next day. 'But,' continued he, 'I own I was glad as one hour of daylight slipped away after another, and our position was still maintained.'—'And if,' continued the querist, 'by misfortune the position had been carried?'—'We had the wood behind us to retreat into.'—'And if the wood also had been forced?'—'No, no, they could
