Louis XVIII., &c., passed through the village this evening on his way to Cateau. Leathes and I rode a little way out to meet him, which we did about a quarter of a mile off. The cortège consisted of several Berlines, escorted by about two squadrons of the Royal Garde de Corps--fine young men (all gentlemen), dressed in a very becoming uniform, blue turned up with red, and silver lace tastefully disposed, with Grecian helmets, silver, with a golden sun on the front, the most elegant I ever saw. The king was in the last carriage, on each side of which rode the Duc de Berri and that General whose acquaintance I made on the drill-ground near Alost. We had drawn up on the roadside as the cortège passed. The moment the Duc de Berri and the General saw us, they came up, and, offering us their hands, poured forth such a torrent of compliments and congratulations as made even our horses blush. His Royal Highness could never sufficiently testify his gratitude to the English nation, &c. &c.; was impatient to see us in Paris, for then and there indeed, &c. &c. The General was equally profuse in compliments and promises, so that, forgetting the adage, “Put not your trust in princes,” Leathes and I have ever since been feeling the Croix de St Louis dangling at our breasts--_nous verrons_! The monarch was detained from his dinner more than half an hour by my worthy friend Mons. le Curé, who, in full pontificals, and followed by his congregation _en habits de Dimanches_, met him at the entrance of the village, and, standing on a little bank at the coach-door, delivered a long harangue, set off by Mandarine-like bobs of the head at the end of every period, and a most profound bow at the conclusion, all which were received and returned by his Majesty with exemplary patience and punctuality. At length the cortège moved on, and we returned to our orchard.