Up to the present moment nothing could have been more delightful than my residence here--so much so, that it was some time before I could tear myself away from it to go to Paris, though only about six English miles distant, and then with reluctance. To me the country at all times has so many charms, and the city so few, that it is never without regret that I exchange the one for the other. Situated as I am here, during this fine season, and surrounded by luxuries, it is a hard task to think of sacrificing even a single day to the close, disagreeable streets of a large town. Rinaldo in the gardens of Armida was not more completely enthralled than I am in this little paradise. On first awaking in the morning, my delighted ear is saluted by the melodious warble of innumerable pretty songsters in the shrubbery, which comes accompanied by the soft murmurs and splash of the fountain. My toilette occupies a much longer time here than it ever did anywhere else, so great is the luxury of wandering about in a dressing-gown: finished, however, it must be, and then I descend to my stable, talk nonsense to my horses, examine poor Cossack’s wounds, which were not improved by our lengthened march, and then stroll into my garden, cool my palate with some of the delicious fruit, take a turn or two on the terrace under the linden-trees, look at St Germain, think of the unfortunate James who died there in exile, then at Argenteuil, where Heloise pined for her mutilated lover, return to my penetralia and find that William has arranged a delicious little breakfast. A parade of the troop in the village street follows; a visit to the quarters, stables, &c.; an inspection of carriages; concluding with a little peroration with Farrier Price and Wheeler Rockliff. All this occupies the first part of the morning; the remainder is passed in lounging about the village, visiting the other troops, or wandering about my own delightful grounds; sometimes a game at billiards, sometimes a little scribbling. So pass my mornings. Five o’clock usually finds us all assembled in the _salle de compagnie_ awaiting M. Ferdinand’s annunciation, “On vient de servir, M. le Commandant,” throwing open the _battants_ with a bow and an air worthy a groom of the chambers. Dinner consists of a _potage_ and several other dishes, always excellent; it is followed by a dessert of fine fruit from my _own_ garden. Our wines, too, are not only of the best quality, but we have an astonishing variety--in short, we live like fighting-cocks. After passing a reasonable time at table, and drinking a reasonable allowance of M. Eguillon’s wine, we break up for the evening. Some resort to the billiard-room, some to the neighbouring troops, and I either take a ride or saunter about my terrace as I did in the avenue at Strytem, smoking some of the few remaining excellent cigars I have brought all the way from Brussels--doubly precious now, since I find there are none such to be got in Paris.