The only event that marked this period of our tranquil, even-flowing existence was the removal of our 1st division from the chateau farm, in compliance with the urgent request of the farmer (Walsdragen), to the pretty village of Yseringen, about a mile off, on the hill above us. I regretted this separation of the troop, but could not withstand the poor man’s solicitations, who expected every hour his wife’s _accouchement_. As for the division, it benefited by the change. The officer (Leathes) got most excellent quarters in a comfortable well-furnished chateau, whilst his men and horses were equally well lodged in the adjoining farm. Poor Walsdragen, however, could not enjoy this relief, for, a few days after, the impending event took place, and he lost his wife. I shall not forget in a hurry this melancholy circumstance, for I charged myself with unkindness towards him in his affliction by having so long withstood his solicitations to be relieved of our people. I was walking in the avenue, as usual, after dinner, enjoying my weed; the evening was calm and serene, the sun just setting; no sound disturbed the stillness save the hum of insects or the croaking of the frogs. Suddenly one of the most terrific shrieks I ever heard burst forth, until the woods rang again. At first, startled as I was, there was no saying whence the sound came, and taking my cigar from my mouth, I had scarcely assumed a listening attitude when, again and again, it was repeated in a manner so appalling as to make my very flesh creep. It evidently proceeded from the farm; but what could occasion such horrid cries? This time they were succeeded by loud lamentations of many voices, male and female. I hurried towards the farm, hardly knowing what to conjecture. The first idea that flashed on me was an irruption of some French party, who were plundering, murdering, &c. &c., and this, in the first instance, seemed in some measure borne out when several men, without hats, came rushing out of the farmyard with lamentable cries, and passing by me without notice, proceeded to the bridge of the chateau, and there, throwing themselves on their knees before an image of the Virgin and child standing in a niche outside the chapel already mentioned, commenced a most dolorous mixture of lamentation and half-chanted supplication--part of a litany, I presume. I stood somewhat puzzled. After a few minutes of this devotional exercise, one of them ran away and brought a spade, with which he cut a large sod, and the whole party hurried back to the house, carrying it with them. At this moment St Cyr (one of our farmers, and the best amongst them) came up, and, making Mynheer Walsdragen’s compliments, reported from him, and at his desire, the death of his wife, which had just taken place--a strange piece of etiquette at such a moment. The sod, I learned, was to put under her head, an ancient practice invariably observed.