_July 25th._--Yesterday our army (British only) was reviewed by their Imperial and Royal Majesties. I marched early, as the line was to be formed by 9 o’clock. After passing through St Denis, we took the great road to the right by St Ouen, and came on the Neuilly road just above the village, where we formed, being on the left of the whole, except the 18-pounder brigades. Ross and Bull’s troops were on my right. We had a long and tedious wait; and as the day was very hot, it was no small treat to discover that an apothecary hard by had some excellent raspberry vinegar, which, I think, we exhausted. At length the approach of the sovereigns was announced, and they came preceded and followed by a most numerous and brilliant _cortège_, in which figured, perhaps, some of almost every arm of every army in Europe. It was a splendid and most interesting sight. First came the Emperor Alexander and the King of Prussia, in their respective green and blue uniforms, riding together--the former, as usual, all smiles; the latter taciturn and melancholy. A little in their rear followed the Austrian Emperor, in a white uniform, turned up with red, but quite plain--a thin, dried-up, thread-paper of a man, not of the most distinguished bearing; his lean brown visage, however, bore an expression of kindness and _bonhommie_, which folk say his true character in no way belies. They passed along, scanning our people with evident interest and curiosity; and in passing me (as they did to every commanding officer), pulled off their hats, and saluted me with most gracious smiles. I wonder if they do the same to their own. Until yesterday I had not seen any British infantry under arms since the evening the troops from America arrived at Garges, and, in the mean time, have constantly seen corps of foreign infantry. These are all uncommonly well dressed in new clothes, smartly made, setting the men off to the greatest advantage--add to which their _coiffure_ of high broad-topped shakos, or enormous caps of bear-skin. Our infantry--indeed, our whole army--appeared at the review in the same clothes in which they had marched, slept, and fought for months. The colour had faded to a dusky brick-dust hue; their coats, originally not very smartly made, had acquired by constant wearing that loose easy set so characteristic of old clothes, comfortable to the wearer, but not calculated to add grace to his appearance. _Pour surcroit de laideur_, their cap is perhaps the meanest, ugliest thing ever invented. From all these causes it arose that our infantry appeared to the utmost disadvantage--dirty, shabby, mean, and very small. Some such impression was, I fear, made on the sovereigns, for a report has reached us this morning, that they remarked to the Duke what very small men the English were. “Ay,” replied our noble chief, “they are small; but your Majesties will find none who fight so well.” I wonder if this is true. However small our men and mean