DOG-CARTS.
The unexpected street scenes and the general interest of the Class in them so offended Frank that he turned his eyes with a far-away look towards the highest gables, and passed on the rest of the way to the Hotel de l’Europe in silence.
The next morning the Class left the Place Royale, in a fine English stage-coach, in company with an agent of the English mail coaches, for Waterloo, which is about twelve miles from the city. It was a bright day, and the airy road led through the forest of Soignies,—the “Ardennes” of Byron’s “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage.”
“And Ardennes waves about them her green leaves,
Dewy with Nature’s tear-drops, as they pass.”
The battlefield of Waterloo is an open plain, graced here and there with appropriate monuments, and dignified with an imposing earth mound with the Belgian Lion on its top.
It did not seem that the plain could ever have been the scene of such a contest, so great was its beauty and so quiet its midsummer loveliness.
STREET SCENES IN BRUSSELS.
“Here,” said Frank, “the Old Guard of France, who could die but not surrender, gave their blood for the empire.”