_January 1, 1816._--At last the order for our advance having arrived, we marched this morning from Grandvilliers, several _paysannes_ of the village following the troop as volunteers for l’Angleterre, betraying the effects of idleness in country quarters. Whilst preparing to set off, our host presented a bill for our living, &c., amounting to nine napoleons, which I was about to pay, when Hitchins and F. interfered, asking the good man whether he would have dared appear before a Prussian officer with such a thing, and telling him after the manner his countrymen had treated all other countries that he ought to think himself well off in being treated so leniently. He did not subscribe to this, and an argument ensued which I was sorry for, but was weak enough to allow my better intentions to be overruled; and at last, when Monsieur begged I would at least certify that he had not been paid, I did so on the bill, stating as reason that the inhabitants had been ordered to feed us. Our march to Poix, the next halting-place, was through a country that never could be very interesting, still less so in its wintry garb, until, from the summit of a high hill, we looked down upon the lovely valley in which that village is situated. On arriving we found all the world _en habit de Dimanche_ celebrating the opening of the new year. The principal features in this celebration were the kisses exchanging in all directions, the enormous stiffly-starched caps of the women, and the music that paraded continually through the streets. The _auberge_ we found so noisy, smoky, dirty, and the landlord such an uncivil brute, that we immediately commenced a search for a better billet. For a time success seemed uncertain; the houses of the peasantry were too filthy to be thought of. Not far from the _auberge_ we found a good house, but shut-up doors and windows. In vain Hitchins and I knocked and threatened, or asked information of its inhabitants from the neighbours; nobody would answer from within, and nobody would answer without--at least more than “Je n’en sais rien, monsieur.” At last we found a respectable sort of old-fashioned farmhouse, the mistress of which (a widow) was factotum to the Prince de Poix, proprietor of the village, and much of the neighbouring country,--and hither we immediately removed, bag and baggage. A labyrinth of dark passages led to a large, gloomy, wainscoted room, in one corner of which was a great old-fashioned bed, with yellow damask curtains, like the one we slept in at Breteuil. Here we established ourselves, and Angélique had a small cabinet hard by, whilst the men were put up in the more distant part of the house occupied by the family. Although there was a large fireplace, in which we kept up capital fires, the place was very cold; but a couple of old screens in some measure remedied this, and at last we thought ourselves tolerably comfortable. Our park was formed on the