We proceeded on our journey through a country still improving in beauty. Sloping grounds, and woods and lawns, and country seats and pleasure-grounds, and meadows covered with the richest verdure, greeted our eyes as we advanced to Brussels. We met and passed several of the Diligences; tremendous machines in size, and in slowness, not unlike the vehicles which in England are used for the conveyance of wild beasts from one town to another. They were filled with an innumerable motley multitude, some of which were playing upon the fiddle, others singing, and all merry-making, as they jogged along. The road was much cut up with the passage of commissariat-waggons, long trains of which we frequently met upon the way. We drew near to Brussels, and traversed the margin of that calm and quiet canal, which, when we left it, had presented a scene of such horrid confusion; and as we approached Lacken we looked up at it once more, but with very different feelings to those with which we had gazed at it when we had passed it before, and recollected the boast Napoleon had made the preceding day--"To-morrow I shall sleep at Lacken." It was from hence that his premature pompous declarations to the Belgic people were dated, announcing victory; which were even found ready printed in his carriage at Charleroi, after his defeat and flight on the 18th of June. We entered a sort of wood. On each side of us, upon the grass and beneath the shade of the trees, there was a large encampment of tents, men, horses, waggons, huts, and arms; with all the accompaniments and confusion attendant upon such an establishment. It formed, however, a picturesque and animated scene; fires were burning, suppers cooking, men sleeping, children playing, women scolding, horses grazing, and waggons loading; while long carts and tumbrils were drawn up beneath the trees; parties of Flemish drivers sitting on the ground round the fires, drinking and smoking; and people moving to and fro in every direction. This encampment belonged to the Commissariat department. We passed the Allée Verte, usually the fashionable promenade for carriages on Sunday evening; but though this was Sunday evening, it was entirely deserted. The inhabitants of Brussels had not yet, perhaps, resumed their habits of gaiety, and in fact the Allée Verte was nearly impassable, owing to the heavy rains and the immense passage of military carriages upon it.