and only broken by the buildings of the village of Vertus and the elevated bank of the Canal de l’Ourcq. The great road to Compiègne, which crosses this plain from La Chapelle to St Denis, once had its trees also; but they were cut down, I think, last year; and the only objects one now sees along this dreary line are a mile (or a league) stone on the left going to town, and a cross or Bon Dieu on the right. Young trees have been planted along part of the line, but at present they are mere sticks. Met Major Morrison in Vertus; his 9-pounder brigade is stationed there, together with a regiment of infantry. By the way, the name of that place is Aubervilliers, or Nôtre Dame des Vertus, but one never hears any more of its name than the last word--so that it is Vertus _par excellence_, and all the rest is superfluity. I have had a long scribble this morning; so now, having jotted down nearly everything to the present date, I have a right to go and idle a bit with the girls. This is a lounge of which I have as yet said nothing, because I thought it commonplace; hereafter, however, it will be interesting to look back and see as in a picture all that is now transacting--_allons donc!_ Through the middle of our village runs a little sluggish rivulet, very like that at Garges. On the banks of this, every fine day, may be seen assembled the scraggy-necked dames and black-eyed nymphs of the village, all pretty much alike in costume--that is, arms bare, stays loosely laced, and petticoat of _siamoise_, with the eternal blue stockings and wooden shoes; each has her bundle of linen, her heavy bat, and generally a bit of board to kneel on. Here, then, kneeling in a line along the banks of soapy waters, they laugh, chatter, and sing; whilst the bat incessantly goes slap, slap, slap. Just where the street leading to St Denis joins ours, in the centre of the village, a bridge of very humble dimensions spans the stream, on the parapet of which I have established my divan; and thither I repair to smoke my weed and enjoy a little badinage with the fair daughters of Stain--to gain a little information from their wrinkled mothers. Amongst our village maidens there are several exceedingly pretty--some one or two would be beautiful, were not their feminine _delicacy_ (perhaps the word may be used morally as well as physically) much injured by their being constantly employed in the fields, which cannot but make their persons coarse. There is one exception to this, however, in Josephine Chamont, who is really a beautifully-delicate, lady-like girl; but then she does not go to the fields. Angélique, on the contrary, is as fine a woman as ever I saw; she is about twenty--a perfect Juno--tall, erect, with a beautiful countenance and splendid black eyes; she walks like a queen. When our invasion was expected, the women of the commune formed themselves into an amazonian regiment, and Angélique was their sergeant-major.--But I must to the bridge.