_15th._ A fine, mild, grey morning. Our people paraded in much better order, and very much higher spirits, than yesterday, and all seemed pleased with their entertainment. The novelty amused them, and every one had some tale to relate of last night’s adventures. Their hosts had generally been very kind to them, and allowed them to take as much forage for their horses as they chose. The poor animals, therefore, had passed the night equally well. In marching out of Ghistel, I noticed many houses of a superior description to the rustic dwellings which alone I saw last night. Some of these had much the appearance of stage scenery, having façades painted to represent pilasters, urns, wreaths, festoons, &c. &c., all in very childish taste. These, no doubt, were the villas or _lusthausen_ of the Ostend citizens. Our march to Bruges (about twelve miles) was through a country perfectly flat, but rich and highly cultivated; and from the numerous little woods, farms, and substantial villages--added, again, to the charm of novelty--it was far from uninteresting. About noon we entered the city by a fine, broad, airy street, rendered pleasing by the intermixture of foliage with its picturesque buildings, and swarming with people. By-and-by we came to narrower streets and more antiquated-looking houses; winding our way amongst which, we at last reached the cavalry barrack, situated in a narrow, dirty back lane at the further extremity of the town--a large, heavy, inelegant mass of masonry, more like some old storehouse than a barrack. Here, in the extensive yard, we parked our guns, and put our men into the barrack, the rooms of which were large, lofty, and vaulted, but extremely filthy, so that our people had to regret the clean comfortable billets and kind hospitality which they would have enjoyed amongst the inhabitants. A range of ruinous wooden sheds, extending along two sides of the yard, served as stabling, and received all our horses.