But the charms of a country life have so occupied my brain as to chase from it all recollection of being a soldier. To be sure, professional occupations did not consume a very great portion of our time, yet still there remain a few little items worthy of being recorded--_imprimis_, drills. So completely is the whole of this country (not occupied by wood) under tillage, that it was long after our arrival at Strytem ere we discovered a spot on which we could even draw out the troop, much less exercise it. At length, and I cannot recollect how, we found a piece of scrubby common of some acres in extent near the village of Denderhout, some miles off on the other side of the Dender, and not far from Alost. Thither, then, we repaired occasionally to practise ourselves, and prevent our people forgetting entirely their drills. Thither also came occasionally His Highness of Berri with his newly-formed corps of cavalry to learn theirs. We frequently met, and as the ground was too confined to admit of both corps working at the same time, the last comers were obliged to dismount and wait until the others had done, for we continued our operations when first on the ground, regardless of the impatience of the royal drill-master, who, though he never said anything to us, did not fail to betray, by a thousand little pettish actions, the annoyance he felt at our want of due respect. One day that they had got in possession and we were obliged to wait, I had a good opportunity of seeing this curious corps and its savage leader. The former presented a most grotesque appearance--cuirassiers, hussars, grenadiers à cheval, and chasseurs, dragoons and lancers, officers and privates, with a few of the new garde de corps, were indiscriminately mingled in the ranks. One file were colonels, the next privates, and so on, and all wearing their proper uniforms and mounted on their proper horses, so that these were of all sizes and colours. There might have been about two hundred men, divided into two or three squadrons, the commanders of which were generals. The Prince, as I have said, was drill-master. A more intemperate, brutal, and (in his situation) impolitic one, can scarcely be conceived. The slightest fault (frequently occasioned by his own blunders) was visited by showers of low-life abuse--using on all occasions the most odious language. One unfortunate squadron officer (_a general!_) offended him, and was immediately charged with such violence that I expected a catastrophe. Reining up his horse, however, close to the unhappy man, his vociferation and villanous abuse were those of a perfect madman; shaking his sabre at him, and even at one time thrusting the pommel of it into his face, and, as far as I could see, pushing it against his nose! Such a scene! Yet all the others sat mute as mice, and witnessed all this humiliation of their comrade, and the degradation of him for whom they had forsaken Napoleon.