It has been said, that in this way he realized every summer a couple of hundred Napoleons.  It is surprising how any one could believe the story he told; for supposing that he had been seized upon by Napoleon, what use could such a vagabond be as a guide?  What was he to show?  The British army was staring the Emperor in the face at a mile distant.  This soi-disant hero could only be an incumbrance during the conflict, if his courage could have been screwed up to remain at Napoleon’s side, as he pretended he had done, and that when he became panicstruck on the approach of the Prussians, he was rewarded for his services with a twenty-franc coin.  He even pointed out the actual spot where he stood with the Emperor on the chaussee—­heard him exclaim “Sauve qui peut!” and saw him mount his horse, and brush!—­facts, which are become historical!

When Sir Walter had examined every point of defence and attack we adjourned to the “Original Duke of Wellington,” at Waterloo, to dinner, after the fatigues of the ride.  Here he had a crowded levee of peasants, and collected a great many trophies, from cuirasses down to buttons and bullets.  He picked up himself many little relics, and was fortunate in purchasing a grand cross of the legion of honour.  But the most precious relic was presented to him by my wife—­a French soldier’s book, well stained with blood, and containing some poetical effusions, called “Troubadours,” which he found so interesting that he translated them into English, and they were introduced into his “Paul’s Letters;” on the publication of which he did her the honour of sending her a copy, with a most flattering letter, to say, “that he considered her gift as the most valuable of all his Waterloo relics.”

On our return from the field, he kindly passed the evening with us, and a few friends whom we invited to meet him.  He charmed us with his delightful conversation, and was in great spirits from the agreeable day he had passed; and with great good humour promised to write a stanza in the lady’s Album.  The following morning he called to achieve this; and I put him into my little library, the door of which I locked to prevent interruption, as a great many of my friends had paraded in the Parc opposite my window to get a peep of the celebrated man, many having dogged him from his hotel.

Brussels affords but little worthy of the notice of such a traveller as the author of “Waverley;” but he greatly admired the splendid tower of the Maison de Ville, and the ancient sculpture and style of architecture of the buildings which surround the Grand Place.