and runaways from the army came rushing in at the Porte de Namur, and these fugitives increased the public panic to the utmost. Sauve qui peut! now became the universal feeling; all ties of friendship or kindred were forgotten, and an earnest desire to quit Brussels seemed to absorb every faculty.  To effect this object, the greatest sacrifices were made.  Every beast of burthen, and every species of vehicle were put into requisition to convey persons and property to Antwerp.  Even the dogs and fish-carts did not escape—­enormous sums were given for the humblest modes of conveyance, and when all failed, numbers set off on foot.  The road soon became choked up—­cars, wagons, and carriages of every description were joined together in an immovable mass and property to an immense amount was abandoned by its owners, who were too much terrified even to think of the loss they were sustaining.  A scene of frightful riot and devastation ensued.  Trunks, boxes, and portmanteaus were broken open and pillaged without mercy; and every one who pleased, helped himself to what he liked with impunity.  The disorder was increased by a rumour, that the Duke of Wellington was retreating towards Brussels, in a sort of running fight, closely pursued by the enemy; the terror of the fugitives now almost amounted to frenzy, and they flew like maniacs escaping from a madhouse.  It is scarcely possible to imagine a more distressing scene.  A great deal of rain had fallen during the night, and the unhappy fugitives were obliged literally to wade through mud.  I had, from the first, determined to await my fate in Brussels; but on this eventful morning, I walked a few miles on the road to Antwerp, to endeavour to assist my flying countrymen.  I was soon disgusted with the scene, and finding all my efforts to be useful, unavailing, I returned to the town, which now seemed like a city of the dead; for a gloomy silence reigned through the streets, like that fearful calm which precedes a storm; the shops were all closed, and all business was suspended.  During the panic of Friday and Saturday, the sacrifice of property made by the British residents was enormous.  A chest of drawers sold for five francs, a bed for ten, and a horse for fifty.  In one instance, which fell immediately under my own observation, some household furniture was sold for one thousand francs, (about 40 l.) for which the owner had given seven thousand francs, (280 l.) only three weeks before.  This was by no means a solitary instance; indeed in most cases, the loss was much greater, and in many, houses full of furniture were entirely deserted, and abandoned to pillage.