the plateau, and still found no concentration of troops, or other indication of the neighbourhood of the enemy, our expectation of another battle vanished. Insensibly we had deviated from the general route, and found ourselves only accompanied by Major Bull’s troop of horse-artillery. Bull had got the same discretionary orders from his general as myself, and was also making his way to Sequehart, where his brigade was to halt. The country had become prettier and more interesting, and the rain had ceased. Woods were more frequent and larger, and at last we marched through what might strictly be termed a wooded country. The ground, too, became more undulating, and pastures of green meadows occurred to relieve most agreeably the tiresome sameness of the corn crops. Occasionally, also, openings between the woods would give us glimpses of distant and pretty country. But where dwell the husbandmen who cultivate those lands? In this district we saw not a single habitation, and only here and there met a solitary peasant--not working, but in the road--moving from one place to another. Of these we incessantly demanded “Où se trouve Sequehart?” and the response was invariably “_N’sais paw, Monsire_,” or a shake of the head. Bull and I began to be uneasy as the evening drew on, whilst we were surrounded by woods, and not the slightest appearance of a village to be seen. Our own people were now the only troops visible, and we began to suspect what proved to be true--we had lost ourselves! We were so enclosed by woods that it was impossible to see to any distance; and cross-roads branching off right and left became very frequent, so that we were puzzled how to proceed. Every peasant we met persisted in knowing nothing of Sequehart, nor had met any other troops. We were evidently astray. At last an old man, to whom the usual questions were put, after puzzling over it for a few minutes, begged we would repeat the name. “Sequehart!--Sequehart!” said he, two or three times. “_Monsire, n’le connois paw_; mais, ma foi, ce sera sans doute Escars que vous cherchez.” We stared in our turn, but the old man was positive, and insisted that we were leaving it behind us. After some little irresolution, Bull and I made up our minds to follow his directions; and accordingly, after a few miles threading our way between woods, arrived here a little before sunset. The village is already full of Life Guards, and therefore we are obliged to bivouac again; but that is of little moment, for we have an excellent spot on a rising ground, covered with short velvety turf, close to the chaussée leading to St Quentin, on the other side of which, about two or three hundred yards distant, is the village of Sequehart, or Escars, so buried in the foliage of fine walnut-trees, and of the hedges enclosing the gardens and some fields, that scarcely a roof is to be seen; and it is only through the ascending columns of blue smoke from amongst the trees that the site of the