William Ponsonby was overtaken by a troop of Polish Lancers in a newly plowed field, in which his horse stuck fast, and, together with his aid-de-camp, was speared as he was giving the latter his watch and his lady's picture to deliver to her in case he should escape. liam's death also was terribly avenged; for his brigade, falling in with the Polish Lancers again, scarcely left one alive. ing scene of this bloody day, it is necessary to digress for a few moments to narrate the state of affairs at Wavre. The Duke, in giving battle, had calculated on receiving Blucher's aid at two or three o'clock; but the badness of the roads, ocSir Wil-casioned by the rain of the previous night, rendered it impossible for it to come until nearly four hours later; and the allied resources had thus been taxed to support the contest for that long period beyond what their commander had intended. This is a point which, in estimating the merits of victory, ought not to be overlooked; for, to have held the position a single hour against the terrible cannonade which Napoleon's enormous park enabled him to pour upon the allied troops, was a task that would have severely tried the mettle of the best disciplined and most experienced troops. In a letter the Duke wrote to Lord Beresford from Paris, he said: "Never did I see such a pounding match. Both were what boxers call At this time Hougoumont continued to be a principal point of attack. Foiled in every attempt to carry it by storm, Napoleon had at last ordered it to be bombarded, and by this means it was set on fire. The chapel was burnt down, and many of the wounded of both sides perished in the flames. Still the blazing ruins were as obstinately held as ever; and though ten thousand Frenchmen were killed and wounded in the numberless attacks upon it, the old chateau was never for an instant in the hands of the enemy. Another and more desperate assault than ever was made about this period upon the de-gluttons.' Napoleon did not manœuvre voted building; but its defenders having been reinforced by Byng's brigade, the attempt failed as signally as its predecessors. The farm of La Haye Sainte, which stood about two hundred and fifty yards in advance of the allied line, and formed an important outpost, did not fare so well. Three attacks were made upon it, and all of them were gallantly beaten off. Twice a barn, or outhouse, close to the main building, was fired, and twice the flames were extinguished; but when the operations against it had continued about two hours, the ammunition of the defenders began to fall short, and unhappily the communications with the main body were all cut off. The little garrison, overpowered, but fearless still, husbanded well each shot, and when it was all gone, they made a desperate defense with their bayonets. They were, of course, forced to yield, and, it is said, were all sacrificed to the rage of their captors. The enemy could make but little use, after all, of this dearly-acquired conquest, as the ruined house was opposed to the destructive and incessant fire of the guns on an adjacent ridge. One of the most furious cannonades on record was now turned upon the English center, and formed the overture to Napoleon's last and most desperate attack. Before, however, describing the conclud at all. He just moved forward in the old style, in columns-and was driven off in the old style. I never saw British infantry behave so well." The routine was, in every instance, nearly the same. The British were mostly in square. The French cannonaded them for some time, and then ceased firing; the cavalry rushed on them; fell upon an immovable rock; retired, and were charged by the allied cavalry in return. This was repeated innumerable times. Occasionally the French would concentrate their fire on some devoted regiment, which, to avoid the iron hail, would lie down; but as soon as the cannonade ceased, would rise and repulse the cavalry attack, with the calm steadiness which all the British regiments showed throughout the day. The loss, however, was awful. The twenty-seventh regiment had four hundred killed in square, without returning a shot; the ninety-second, though reduced to less than two hundred, undauntedly charged, pierced, and routed a whole French column; the officer commanding the thirty-third sent to beg for support, and the only answer that could be given him was, that he must stand or fall where he was. The English guns were many times taken and retaken. It was with an anxious eye that the great Duke, all of whose reserves had been gradually sent into action, watched the battle. Often was he seen to glance at his watch; and once he was heard to exclaim, "Would to God that night or Blucher would come!" Still he kept a composed countenance, and, regardless of danger, rode about in the thickest of the fire, seeing that all went well, and giving his men the encouragement they so much needed; for it is an admitted fact that the intrepidity which enables a soldier to stand still is of a much higher description than that required to make a charge, in which excitement often supplies the place of valor. At a little before five, Bulow, with a portion of his corps, arrived, and commenced his attack; the cannon balls of his artillery reaching as far as the Charleroi-road. Napoleon immediately dispatched part of his reserves, under Count Lobau, against him. These troops soon repulsed Bulow, and separated him from the English army. A report in the meantime was spread along the French line that the fire proceeded from Grouchy's guns, and victory now seemed certain. At half-past six, Pirch's corps, reinforcing the Prussians to forty-six thousand men, began to show themselves, and Napoleon, still full of confidence as to the result, made his grand attack on the left center. Throwing back half his right wing to hold the Prussians in check, he collected the reserve of his Imperial Guards, amounting to fifteen thousand men, and ordered their attack to be supported by the simultaneous advance of the whole front line. Having led the Guards to the bottom of the hill, he pointed to the English lines and said, There, gentlemen, is the way to Brussels!" The response was a hearty "Vive l'Empereur!" and the attack was handed over to Ney. The French marched proudly on to the encounter, preceded by a cloud of skirmishers, who, carrying on a smart battle with the light troops to the left, rapidly advanced to cover with the smoke of their pieces the movement of the Guards, and to drive the men from the English guns, which were making frightful havoc with the approaching colums. At last the leading one reached the crest of the hill, behind which the Duke of Wellington had made the Foot Guards lie down to avoid the tremendous fire which we have said formed a preliminary to the attack. To the surprise of the French in 66 the front ranks, there appeared no obstacle except a few mounted officers, whom they could just discern through the smoke from Napier's battery, which the minute before had been engaged in driving back the skirmishers by a shower of canister, grape, and shrapnel shells. One of these officers was the Duke himself, who shouted, "Up, Guards, and at them!" Instantly they sprang up in a compact line of four deep, and at fifty paces poured into the column a volley that fairly staggered it. The Imperial Guards attempted to deploy ; but the rapid and telling fire which was kept upon them rendered the movement a failure, and the Duke ordered Maitland to charge. A tremendous cheer was the reply. Guard met Guard for the first time, and in an instant the French were fleeing before the English. The second column now came on with imposing steadiness, disregarding the fire of Napier's battery, and returning with effect the musketry with which it was received. Sir John Colborne, who had been anxiously watching its advance, suddenly wheeled the fifty-second, so as to bring its fire on the left flank of the column, the front of which was exposed to that of Maitland's Guards. The Duke, whose intentions Sir John had anticipated, instantly supported him with the seventy-first, and two companies of the third battalion of the ninetyfifth. The cross fire, added to the cannonade, soon broke the Imperials, and the English regiments giving three cheers, charged on both faces, and routed them. The Duke, as they ran in confusion down the hill, launched Vivian and Vandeleur's cavalry upon the flying mass, and rendered a rally impossible. Meanwhile Druet's corps had been desperately engaging Alten's division, and the fugitives to whom the flank charge had given a sidelong impulse, rushed against it, and communicated the panic to their comrades, so that they also broke and fled. Fresh cavalry now advanced to keep back the French horse; and the Duke, perceiving that the Prussians were at hand, closed his telescope with the exclamation, "The hour is come!" and ordered the whole line to charge. Just at this moment the sun, as if to light the English troops to victory, burst forth for the first time on that eventful day, and the lurid glare struggling through the battle smoke produced the strangest effect perhaps ever beheld. It did not, however, last long. The "regent of the skies" set to rise on the morrow; but the sun of Napoleon's fame, as bright and fleeting as these last rays, had sunk forever! The desperate determination to stand or die, which, up to this period, had sustained the allies, now gave way to an indescribable tide of emotions. The conviction rushed with irresistible force into every mind, that the same judgment which had caused their illustrious commander to turn so long a deaf ear to their demands to be led on, could not be at fault when he now bade them to advance. Every one, therefore, felt that victory was certain. Then the presentiment that the field they were now contesting would be the most glorious in the world's history, begot in each soldier's breast a fervent desire to distinguish himself; and, lastly, there was not a regiment that had not some beloved officer, for whose death they had to exact a terrible reckoning not a man that had not some brother, some friend, some comrade to avenge. Thus it was that the Duke's command was received with a thrilling cheer; and, forming one long and splendid line, the infantry hurry on to certain conquest. Every man is a hero. No troops can resist such a host, for "Victory sits upon their helms." The French flee at their approach-the horse artillery open on the panic-stricken mass the cavalry thunder upon their broken ranks. "Sauve qui peut !" becomes the cry-order, discipline, courage, are forgotten, and in a few short moments one of the bloodiest and most complete routs ever experienced by an army has taken place. Three squares of the Old Guards attempted to stand; but the Duke ordered Adams' brigade to charge, and as it approached they faced about, and began to retire. This movement soon degenerated into a confused flight, and, with scarcely an attempt to rally, the French army was a total wreck. The portion of the right wing opposed to Blucher being unsupported, collapsed before the Prussians, who took Planchenoit with little trouble, and cut off all chance of an orderly retreat. The news of Waterloo reached England on the twentieth, by Mr. Sutton, the proprietor of a number of vessels plying between Colchester and Ostend, who made the voyage at his private cost for that special purpose. The Duke's dispatches arrived two days later, and were immediately conveyed to the two Houses of Parliament. They produced the most rapturous expressions of joy. A vote of thanks to the Duke and his army was carried by acclamation in the Lords, on the motion of the Earl Bathurst; and in the Commons the minister (Lord Castlereagh) brought a message from the Prince Regent, in consequence of which an additional grant of $1,000,000, accompanied by the most flattering encomiums, was made, to purchase a mansion and estate for His Grace. Illuminations were general throughout the country, and almost every steeple rang out its merriest peals. A prayer of thanksgiving was said in the churches on Sunday, the ninth of July, and a subscription, amounting to upward of $500,000 was made for the widows and orphans of the slain. All the regiments which had been in the battle were permitted to inscribe "Waterloo" on their banners; and every surviving soldier was presented with a silver medal, and was allowed to reckon that day as two years' service. THE CURIOSITY OF CHILDREN. THE curiosity of the child is the philosophy of the man, or at least, to abate somewhat of so sweeping a generality, the one very frequently grows into the other. The former is a sort of balloon-a little thing, to be sure, but a critical one nevertheless, and pretty surely indicative of the heights, as well as the direction, to be taken by the more fully expanded mind. Point out to me a boy of original, or what would generally be called eccentric habits, fond of rambling about, a hunter of the wood-side and river-bank, prone to collect what he can search out, and then on his return to shut himself up in his room, and make experiments upon his gatherings-to inquire into the natural history of each according to its kind-point such a one out to me, and I should have no difficulty in pronouncing him, without the aid of physiognomy, to be a far better and happier augury than his fellow, who does nothing but pore over his books, never dreaming that there can be any knowledge beyond them. The spirit that is powerful enough to choose, instead of resigning itself to the tide, must be a very powerful spirit indeed -a spirit of right excellent promise. PROMINENT among the clergy of the 1st of March, 1800. His father was the Protestant Episcopal Church, and occupying a no less conspicuous position among the pulpit orators of our country, stands the Rev. Dr. Tyng, of New-York. He is, intellectually, a great man-great in the pulpit, as great on the platform, and one who would attain the same eminence in any other direction in which he should choose to exert the energies of his mind.. This is the vox populi-the general verdict and is amply sustained by a more careful investigation of the character and abilities of the man. No person can listen to one of Dr. Tyng's extempore addresses at the anniversaries of our Benevolent Societies, without being convinced that a mind of no common order has been unfolding itself before him. The particulars which we have been able to obtain of the early history of the subject of our sketch, although meager and few, must be interesting to many readers as connected with one with whom the Christian public have been so long and so favorably acquainted. Dr. Tyng was born in Newburyport, Massachusetts, on a lawyer of distinction, Hon. Dudley Atkins Tyng; and his maternal grandfather, the Hon. Stephen Higginson, of Boston, a member of the Convention which framed the Constitution of the United States. Young Tyng prepared for college at Phillips Academy, Andover, which has helped to train more great men for active life than any similar institution in America. An incident of his residence at this academy Dr. Tyng incorporated, in his own felicitous manner, in an address made by him at the annual meeting of the Tract Society in May last. Forty years ago, on a fast-day, six young men, preparing for college at Andover, retired to the woods, and met around an old stump for prayer. "Of those six," said the speaker, "Samuel Green found an early entrance into heaven, from successful labors in Boston. Daniel Temple went up to his reward, after a quarter of a century of usefulness in Syria. Asa Cummings is still living, the editor of a widely useful religious paper. Alva Wood was the honored president of a western college. William Goodell, who has spent more than a quarter of a century in Turkey, meets us here to-day; and your humble brother, the speaker, is the sixth." From such associates the youth parted, to enter Harvard College, at the early age of thirteen. He graduated at seventeen, and evincing no decided taste for any professional occupation, he entered upon mercantile business with the prospect of great success. But he was still young, and two years afterward the providence of God seemed to call him to the ministry. He commenced his theological studies under the supervision of Bishop Griswold, at Bristol, Rhode Island. During his residence there a most remarkable religious interest extended through the whole town, commencing with the congregation of St. Michael's. Here he was ordained a deacon on the 4th of March, 1821. Mr. Tyng then removed to the South, and was settled a few months after as the pastor of St. John's Church, Georgetown, District of Columbia, where he labored for two years with activity, zeal, and success. Opportunities of more extended usefulness led the young minister to accept, at the expiration of that time, the charge of Queen Anne Parish, Prince George's County, Maryland. Here he had access to the best of society, some leisure for study, which he eagerly improved, and a wide field for missionary operations. There were then large tracts of country in that region in which the population was so scattered that public worship was seldom enjoyed by many. In addition to his regular duties, Mr. Tyng undertook to supply this destitution by making preaching tours in all directions; and during one of these tours preached seventeen times, and traveled four hundred and fifty miles, on horseback, in fourteen days. After six years of labor in this field, he became rector of St. Paul's Church, Philadelphia, in May, 1829. During the three years which he spent here, Dr. Tyng's audience was the largest in the city. Three times each Sabbath he addressed a congregation which thronged the church to its utmost capacity, besides holding a daily morning meeting at six o'clock, preparing a weekly lecture, and delivering numerous addresses before benevolent societies of every description. At the general commencement of Jefferson Col lege in 1832, the degree of Doctor of Divinity was conferred upon him. "Whatever mistakes have been made by our literary institutions, of late years, in the lavish conferring of this degree, if sound learning, accurate scholarship, extensive theological acquirements, vigorous intellect, and very superior pulpit powers, with great devotion to his professional work, constitute legitimate grounds for the bestowment of this honor, it was not injudiciously bestowed in the present instance." In the fall of 1833, Dr. Tyng was elected rector of the Church of the Epiphany. His ministry at St. Paul's had been wonderfully successful, as will be evident from the fact that during the four years of his connection with that Church two hundred and fifty persons had been admitted to its communion, and these were but a portion of the fruits of his labor during that period. On the death of the venerable and universally lamented Dr. Milnor, in 1845, Dr. Tyng was called to supply his honored place as rector of St. George's Church, New-York. This church was originally located in Beekman-street; but, after Dr. Tyng became its pastor, it was removed to Sixteenth-street, where a fine edifice has been erected, fronting on one of the beautiful parks which abound in the upper part of the city. At the time of Dr. Tyng's installation there were four hundred and fifty members in communion; the present number we have not been able to learn. St. George's Church, however, receives a crowded congregation every Sabbath, and the Sabbath-school connected with the Church numbers one thousand teachers and pupils. Dr. Tyng's appearance, at present, is that of a man in the prime of life, possessing much physical as well as mental energy. He is rather above the average height, or his erect and dignified bearing gives that impression. He is calm and dignified upon the platform. In the pulpit he wears the robes of his office with an ease and grace which serves to heighten the dignity of his general appearance. His countenance, not untruthfully, bespeaks the diligent and laborious studenta strong mind, thoroughly disciplined and developed. The forehead is high and broad, affording a fine study for the physiognomist. The eyebrows are dark and heavy, concealing an orb which is |