A little hamlet (Long Tour, I think) lay at the foot of the hills, the straggling street of which we found so crowded with baggage-waggons of some Hanoverian or other foreign corps, that for a long while we were unable to pass. The cavalry, therefore, left us behind, for they broke into the adjoining fields until they had cleared the impediment. Although annoyed at being thus hindered, I could not but admire the lightness, and even elegance, of the little waggons, with their neat white tilts, and as neat and pretty _jungfrauen_ who were snugly seated under them. We found the ascent of the hills more difficult than we expected, the road, which went up in a zigzag (indeed, it could not have been otherwise), little better than a woodman’s track, much cut up, and exceedingly steep--so much so, that we found it necessary to double-horse all our carriages, by taking only half up at once. This delayed us considerably; but, impatient as I was to get on, I was pleased at not being hurried through this charming forest-scenery. The hills, as I said, rose abruptly, and with a very steep acclivity, their sides being covered with noble forest-trees, amongst the boles of which the eye ranged without impediment--there being little or no underwood--occasionally catching glimpses through the foliage of the rich and varied plain which we had left, and of the grey buildings of Braine le Comte embosomed in verdure. Groups of dragoons and hussars, mingling with our guns, &c., all scrambling up the steep ascent, seen amongst the gigantic trunks of the trees and by the softened light of the forest, presented delicious pictures. Nor were these less interesting from the accompanying sounds--the dull tramp of the horses, the rattling of sabres, and the voices of command, all magnified by the echo of the forest, which was such that one might have fancied himself speaking under a vault.