course of an hour, you will not hear a dozen.

At Cologne we were lodged at a French Inn kept by the landlord and his
wife alone--no waiters, no other attendance--and yet the house was
spacious, clean, and excellent. I never met with more attention and wish
to accommodate, and not only in the house; the exertions of our host
were exerted still further in our behalf. He introduced us to a Club
chiefly composed of French Germans, who were as hospitably inclined as
himself. One gentleman invited us to his house, would give us some
excellent hock, introduced us to his family, amongst the rest a little
fellow with a sabre by his side, with curling locks and countenance and
manner interesting as Owen's. Hearing I was fond of pictures and painted
glass, he carried me to a fine old Connoisseur, his father-in-law, whose
fears and temper were a good deal roused by the "peste," as he termed
it, of still having half a dozen Cossacks in his house. However, they
were officers, and by his own account did him no harm whatever; but for
fear of accidents he had unpanelled his great dining-room. Our friend
had a large and excellent house, in a style very unlike and far more
magnificent than is usually met with in England. In return for his
civility I was delighted to have it in my power to give him a few ounces
of our Pecco Tea which remained of our original stock. Travelling in
Germany is certainly neither luxurious nor rapid; the custom of hiring
a carriage for a certain distance and taking post horses does not extend
here, and you are therefore reduced to the following dilemma, either
taking a Carriage and the same horses for your journey or the "Post
Waggon," or Diligence, which is of the two rather more rapid. Of two
evils we preferred the last, and at half-past 8 this morning were landed
at Aix la Chapelle, having performed the journey of 45 miles in 12 and a
half hours shaken to death, choked with dust, and poisoned with tobacco,
for here a great hooked pipe is as necessary an appendage to the mouth
as the tongue itself. Under the circumstances above mentioned, with the
Thermometer at about 98 into the bargain, you may conceive we were
heartily glad to run from the coach office to the Baths as instinctively
as young ducks. On looking over the list of persons visiting the place,
we were delighted to find the names of Lord and Lady Glenbervie[86] and
Mr. North.[87] Accordingly, having first ascended the highest steeple in
the town, and been more disgusted than in any place I have seen since
Spain, with virgins and dolls in beads and muslins, and pomatum and
relics of saints' beards, and napkins from our Saviour's tomb, and
mummeries quite disgraceful, we went to call upon them....

We find this, like every other town and village, swarming with Prussian
troops. General Kleist commands, and has no less an army than 170,000.
This seems very like a determination of the King of Prussia not to give
up the slice he has gained in the grand continental scramble. Every
uniform we saw was of British manufacture. An officer told me we had
furnished sufficient for 70,000 Infantry and 20,000 Cavalry.

There is little to be seen in this place. The country about reminded me
most of England; for the first time on the continent we saw hedges and
trees of tolerable size growing amongst them. We were directed above all
other things to pay our respects to the great gambling table. It is,
indeed, one of the Lions of the Town; the room is splendid in size, and
everybody goes to see it. It is open 3 times a day for about 2 or 3
hours each time. About 50 or 60 people were winning or losing round a
large table at a game apparently something like vingt un; not a word was
said, but money was shovelled to the right and left very plentifully....
I forgot to mention that near Linz on the Rhine we passed a headland
fronted and inlaid with as fine a range of Basaltic columns as the
Giant's Causeway, some bent, some leaning, some upright. They are
plentiful throughout that part of the country, and are remarkably
regular; all the stone posts are formed of them, and even here I still
see them....

[Illustration: FRENCH DILIGENCE.]

LETTER XI.

BRUXELLES, _29th_.

After a night and greater part of two days passed in a species of oven
called a French Diligence, with Réaumur Thermometer at 23--hotter, you
will observe, than is necessary to hatch silkworms, and very nearly
sufficient to annihilate your unfortunate brother and husband--did we
arrive at Bruxelles.... I must give you a few details that you may fully
understand the extent of our misery. We arrived at Liège all well, with
only two other passengers; conceive our sorrow when on re-entering the
Diligence after dinner we found besides ourselves and a lady the places
occupied by a Dutch officer, who sat gasping without his coat, and so
far exhausted by the heat, though he had been ten years in Batavia, that
his pipe hung dangling as if he had not breath sufficient to keep its
vestal fire alive, and a lady with two children besides living
intruders. A net from the top was filled with bags, baskets, and
band-boxes. Our night was sad indeed, and the groans of our
fellow-travellers and the ineffectual fluttering of a fan which the
Officer used proved how little they were satisfied with the order of
things. The children were crammed with a succession of French Plums,
almonds, garlicked mutton, liqueurs, and hock, all of which ingredients
the kind mother endeavoured to cement on their Stomachs by Basons of
milk at sunrise, but no sooner had a few additional jolts brought these
bons-bons into close contact than the windows were occupied the rest of
the journey by the stretched-out heads of the poor children.

The heat has been more excessive for the last 4 or 5 days than has been
experienced for many years in this country; and, in short, when _I_
think it worth while to mention heat as the cause of real inconvenience,
you may consider it such as would have thrown you into a fever. Enough
of our personal sufferings, which you may easily conceive have been few
indeed if the above is worth recording....

I left Aix la Chapelle with no great regret. The Country round it is
pretty, much resembling Kent, but as a town or watering-place it has
nothing to recommend but its gambling-table. I expected to have found a
museum of human nature and national character.--Tables d'hôtes crowded
with the best bred of all countries, but just the reverse. There were
Tables d'hôte's at the minor Inns tolerably frequented, but none at the
most fashionable; there the guests lived by themselves. There is no
point of rendezvous, no promenade, no Assembly room, where the
concentrated world may be seen. Like Swedenborgh's theory of living in
the midst of invisible spirits, so at Aix la Chapelle (unless time and
opportunity may have thrown him into private circles) a traveller may be
surrounded by Princes and Potentates without knowing or benefiting by
their illustrious presence; the Glenbervies made the same complaint.
From Aix to Liège we had the company of a very pleasant, well-informed
citizen of Liège (indeed, all the military classes in Germany seem well
informed), who in pathetic terms lamented his lot. In the cutting up of
this grand continental dish Prussia has had Benjamin's mess in this part
of the country. We have his troops, with few exceptions, forming a
cordon within the Rhine from Saarbruck to Liège, and they are by no
means popular. We have clothed them, and all the people feed them,
besides having been called upon for contributions. It is flattering to
see the high respect shown to the British character, which increases as
opportunities occur of observing its effects. If we were like the people
of Bruxelles (said our Liègeois) all would be well; we should rejoice in
having a garrison. British troops, so far from exacting contributions or
demanding free quarters, pay for everything, are beloved by the people,
and money circulates, whereas under the Prussian government we pay all,
are put to all manner of inconvenience, and receive neither thanks nor
satisfaction. They appear to have been peculiarly unfortunate in all
wars. Poor Liège has received a thump from one, a kick from another, and
been robbed by a third. The Austrians have burnt their Suburbs, the
Republicans sold their national and ecclesiastical Estates, and lately
they have had the pleasure of being pillaged by French Marshals and
satisfying the voracious appetite of the Crown Prince, who put them to
an expense of 150,000 frs. in providing his table for 7 weeks, and when
they hinted that they thought it but fair their Royal visitor should pay
for his own dinners, he departed, leaving his bills unpaid. He seems to
have been secreting himself here like a Cat in a barn watching the
motions of the mice, acting solely from interested motives, and ready to
pounce upon whatever might be safely turned to his own advantage. When
the French retreated out of Holland the Duke of Tarentum[88] did the
poor people at Liège the honour of making their town a point in the line
of his march. He stopped one night, and because the inhabitants did not
illuminate and express great joy at his illustrious presence he demanded
an immediate contribution of 300,000 frs., 150,000 of which were paid
the next morning. Luckily the Allies appeared towards Noon, and I hope
his Grace will not get the remainder.

In the character of almost all these French military leaders there are
such blots and stains that one sickens at the thought of being of the
same species. It would be endless to recount the acts of rapacity
committed by all these engines of Imperial France; conscious that their
throne might one day fall, they lost no time in amassing wealth, and
pillage was the watchword from the Cathedral to the Cottage. Lisle is in
the hands of the French, and by their own account the people have
suffered every species of misery, yet they are strong for Napoleon,
Garrison and Citizen, and I cannot find that they ever vented their
feelings in any other way than in nicknaming their General Maison[89] (a
cruel Tyrant who destroyed all their suburbs under pretence they might
be in the way in case of a siege, which might have been done in a day
had the Allies ever thought of such a thing); he is in consequence
called General Brise Maison, and then the foolish people laugh and cry,
"Que c'est bon cela," think they have done a great feat and submit like
lambs. The country from Liège to Brussels wears the same Anglicised
face--hedgerows and trees without any leading features. Bruxelles is a
nice town--and really it was a gratification in passing the gate to see
a fat John Bull keeping guard with his red coat. The Garrison consists
of about 3,000, amongst the rest a regiment of Highlanders whose dress
is the marvel of the people. A French Lady who came with us from Liège
had seen some and expressed her utter surprise, and as if she was
speaking to one who doubted the fact, she repeated, "C'est vrai!
actuellement rien qu'un petit Jupon--mais comment!" and then she lifted
her eyes and hands and reiterated, "petit jupon--et comment,"
concluding, as if she almost doubted the evidence of her own senses, "Je
les ai vus moi-même."

At Bruxelles at least we expected to see a numerous and genteel Table
d'hôte, and in this hope took up our quarters at a magnificent Hotel in
the Place Royale--very fine indeed, and very full of English, much too
full, for though we saw a few in the passages, or eyed them as they
peeped out of their doors, and sat down with about 15 or 20 at table,
"They spoke not, they moved not, they looked not around." By dint of
asking for salt and mustard, and giving my next neighbour as much
trouble as I could to show I had a tongue which I should be happy to
use, we towards the 3rd Act of the Entertainment began to talk, and
ascended gradually from the meats to the wines (here, it is true, there
was some prolixity), and then to other subjects pretty well, though the
burthen of my companion's song was that "the French were all d---- d
rascals and ought to be well licked." We tried the Play; there we found
a few English officers and one English lady, few of any other nation,
not 50 altogether, in a house dismal and dirty. There is a delightful
sort of wood and promenade called the Park....

[Illustration: DUTCH SHIPS.]

CHAPTER V

THE LOW COUNTRIES

Dutch arks--Walcheren memories--Earth-covered ships--Cossacks and
keys--Brother alleys--Bergen op Zoom--Cossack shopping--Goat
curricles--Treckschuyt travelling--Booksellers' shops.

After Brussels the travellers proceeded to Holland, and saw Antwerp on
their way. They had now gone beyond the country which Napoleon's
victories had made famous, and the chief military interest of the
country through which they passed, just eleven months before Waterloo,
was derived from two very melancholy events for an Englishman to
record--the Walcheren Expedition and the storming of Bergen op Zoom.

LETTER XII

BERGEN OP ZOOM, _July 31st_.

...On leaving Bruxelles the country immediately loses its character, and
becomes entirely Dutch, by which we exchange for the better, leaving
dirty floors, houses, and coaches for as much cleanliness as soap and
water can produce; I only regret from my experience of last night that
they should be so much occupied in washing as to forget that drying is
also a luxury, but there is no such novelty in this country, and so much
to be seen that I have no time to catch cold. Our Diligence from
Bruxelles held 10 people inside and 3 in front, and we had all ample
elbow room; it was large, as you may suppose, as everything else in
Holland is from top to bottom. Hats, Coats, breeches, pipes, horns,
cows--are all gigantic, and so are the dogs, and because the poor things
happen to be so, they harness a parcel of them together and breed them
up to draw fish-carts. I yesterday met a man driving four-in-hand; in
turning a corner and meeting three of these open-mouthed Mastiffs
panting and pulling, you might almost fancy it was Cerberus drawing the
Chariot of Proserpine--but I am wandering from the Diligence, which
deserves some description. It resembled a little Theatre more than a
coach, with front boxes, pit, &c., lined with common velvet. We had a
curious collection of passengers. Opposite to me sat a prize
thoroughbred Dutch woman as clean and tidy as she was ugly and
phlegmatic, with a close-plaited cap, unruffled white shawl, and golden
cross suspended from her neck. I took a sketch while she stared me in
the face unconscious of the honor conferred. By her side sat a French
woman crowned with the lofty towers of an Oldenburg Bonnet. By my side a
spruce, pretty, Englishwoman, whom I somehow or other suspected had
been serving with his Britannic Majesty's troops now occupying Belgium.
She had on her right hand a huge Brabanter who spoke English, and had
acquired, I have no doubt, a few additional pounds of fat by living in
London. Edward sat behind me in a line with the Brabanter's wife and a
Dutch peasant. These, with two or three minor characters, completed our
cargo, and away we went on the finest road in the world towards Antwerp
between a triple row of Abeles and poplars, and skirting the bank of a
fine canal upon which floated a fleet of Kuyp's barks, and by which
grazed Paul Potter's oxen--the whole road was, in truth, a gallery of
the Flemish school. By the door of every ale-house a living group from
Teniers and Ostade, with here and there bits from Berghem and Hobbema,
&c. Halfway between Bruxelles and Antwerp is Malines. I had began to
fear that I had lost my powers of observation, and was, therefore, no
longer struck with the external appearance of the towns--in fact, that
the novelty was gone, and that my eyes were too much familiarised with
such objects to notice them. Happily Malines undeceived me, and
convinced me I was still fully alive to whatever had any real
peculiarity of character to entitle it to notice. With the exception of
the villages on the Rhine, all the towns and houses I had seen lately
had little to recommend them, and were like half the people in the
world, possessed of no character of their own, their doors and windows
like all other doors and windows, but Malines had doors and windows of
its own, and seemed to take a pride in exhibiting its own little queer
originalities; in every house was a different idea. The people were of a
piece with their dwellings; I could almost fancy I was permitted to
inspect the toys of some Brobdignag baby who washed, cleaned, and combed
the beings before me every morning and locked them up in their separate
boxes every evening. When the nice green doors of the nice painted
houses opened, I bethought me of the Dutch ark you bought for Owen, and
was prepared to make my best bow to Noah and his wife, who I expected to
step forth with Ham and Japhet, and all the birds and beasts behind
them.

We approached Antwerp as the sun was setting behind its beautiful
Cathedral and shining upon the pennants of the fleet which Bonaparte has
kindly built for the accommodation of the allied powers. The Antwerpers
had a well-arranged promenade and tea garden, &c., about a mile from the
house, well wooded. These, with all the houses in the suburbs, the
French entirely destroyed, leaving not a wreck behind. I must acquit
them of wanton cruelty here, however, as in sieges these devastations
are necessary. We passed thro' a complete course of fortifications, and
then entered what, from all I can perceive, is the best town I have seen
on the continent.

It is a mass of fine streets, fine houses, and fine churches; the Tower
of the Cathedral is quite a Bijou 620 steps in height! but the ascent
was well rewarded; from thence a very respectable tour of about 30 miles
in every direction may be accomplished. Walcheren and Lillo (the
celebrated fort which prevented our ascending the Scheld) were visible
without any difficulty, with Cadsand and all the well-known names of
that silly expedition,[90] rendered apparently more silly by seeing how
impossible it would have been to have taken Antwerp unless by a regular
siege, which might have been of endless duration; we might have
bombarded the basons in which the men-of-war were deposited, and with
about as much success as Sir Thos. Graham,[91] who, after expending a
mint of money in bombs and powders, in the course of two days contrived
to send about half a dozen shells on board the line of battleships. I
was on board the _Albania_, which had suffered the most. The extent of
her damage was two shells which passed thro' the decks, exploding
without much mischief, and a round-shot which shivered a quarter gallery
and then fell on the ice--indeed, bombarding vessels, which are objects
so comparatively small, is something like attempting to shoot wild ducks
on Radnor Mere by firing over their heads with ball in hopes that in its
descent it may come in contact with the bird's head.

About a dozen Gun Brigs were sunk, all of which we saw with their masts
above the water; a few houses near the Bason were shattered, and about
20 Townsmen killed. The country round Antwerp is quite flat, and
appears, with the exception of 2 or 3 miles round the town, a perfect
wood; fancy such a wood with the Scheldt winding through it, several
roads radiating in lines straight as arrows, with here and there a
steeple breaking the horizontal line, and you may suppose yourself at
the top of the Cathedral. The Town is large, with the river washing the
whole of one side; on the south are the dockyards, with rope walks and
everything in fine style; the destruction of these might have been
practicable, as they are rather beyond the line of immediate
fortifications, but probably they have works for their express
protection, and the advantage gained must have been in proportion to the
stores and vessels building. I counted 16 or 17 ships of the line on the
Stocks, 2 or 3 of 120 Guns. In the Scheldt floated 13 in a state of
apparent equipment; in the basons 9--all of the line--thus completing a
fleet of 39 fine Ships, besides a few frigates and Gun Brigs
innumerable--of these only two were Dutch.

It was curious to see such a fleet, and some of them were actually worn
out, the utmost extent of whose naval career had been an expedition to
Flushing. On descending the Spire, we examined the Carillons, which are
a Gamut of chiming bells of all sizes--the total number for them and
the Church is 82; by a clock work they play every 7 minutes, so that the
neighbourhood of the Cathedral is a scene of perpetual harmony; they can
also be played by hand. Most of the churches in this country have them.
Our Guards in marching into Alkmaar were surprised and gratified in
hearing the church bells strike up "God Save the King." There are
several good churches in the town, and once all were decorated with the
works of Rubens, which Napoleon carried off. I should, however, be
perfectly satisfied with a selection from the remainder. I saw a Vandyck
on the subject of our Saviour recommending the Virgin Mary to St. John,
which was incomparable; it quite haunts me at this moment, and, however
horrible the effect of the bleeding figure on the Cross, I do not wish
to lose the impression. The Dutch have carried the art of carving in
wood to a most extraordinary pitch of perfection. I am surprised it has
not been more spoken of; some of their pulpits are really quite
marvellous. Religion increases and, I think, improves. There is less
mummery here than at Aix and some other places I have lately seen, with
the exception of a few little Saviours in powdered wigs and gilt satin
and muslin frocks, and a very singular figure as large as life, supposed
to represent the deposition in the holy sepulchre, which was covered by
a shroud of worsted gauze, studded over with enormous artificial flowers
and tinsel like a Lady's court dress.

Wherever we went, at whatever hour, Mass was performing to good
congregations. The women here all dress in long black shawls, or,
rather, hooded wrappers, which, as they knelt before their confessional
boxes, were extremely appropriate and solemn. The English have a church
here for the garrison; it is simplicity itself. They have even removed
several fine pictures, the rooms having been a sort of museum--the
Vandyck I alluded to among the rest....

In our morning's tour we, of course, visited the celebrated basons for
the men-of-war. "Still harping upon these ships," I can fancy you
exclaiming; "when will he have done with them?" You must bear it
patiently. It was on account of these said basons, in a great measure,
that I came to Antwerp, so you must endure their birth, parentage, and
education.

There are two Basons, one calculated for 16, the other for 30 sail of
the line; they are simple excavations. Nature never thought of such a
thing, and gave no helping hand. It was Napoleon's work from first to
last; the labour and expense must have been enormous. They open by dock
gates immediately into the Scheldt, from whence each ship can proceed
armed and fitted cap à pie (if she dares) to fight the English. They
were begun and finished in two years, but improvements were suggested,
and there is no knowing what more the Emperor intended to do.
Precautions had been taken during the bombardment to preserve the
Ships. For instance, all the decks were propped up by a number of spars,
by which means if a bomb fell it did no other mischief than forcing its
way through and carrying all before its immediate course, whereas
without the props it might have shaken the timbers and weakened the
access considerably. In every ship also were 2 cartloads of earth, to
throw over any inflammable substance which might have fallen on board.
From this mole hill of a truth was engendered a mountainous falsehood
for home consumption. I read in the English Papers of the time that the
French had scuttled their ships to the level of the water, and then
covered them over with earth, which was carefully sodded!! Sir Thos.
Graham's batteries were very near the basons, half-way between the
village of Muxham, about 2 miles from the town and the nearest French
battery. From one of the latter we had a perfect conception of the whole
business. Without saying a word about my extreme partiality and fears
for the safety of No. 1, and probable inconvenience which might ensue
from loss of said No. 1 to Nos. 2, 3 and 4, I wonder much whether my
curiosity would have allowed me to sleep quite in the back ground. The
sight must from this point have been superb, as it was the intention to
throw the bombs over this battery so as to make them fall in the bason
amongst the ducks. The top of the Cathedral would have been perfection,
but the Governor most vexatiously kept the keys....

We found abundance of British troops here, remnants of all the regiments
who had survived the storming of Bergen op Zoom, about 3 or 4,000....
They have no reason to complain of their quarters, though it is possible
many of them may be of the same opinion with a soldier of the Guards,
who, in reply to my question of "How do you like Antwerp?" said with
great earnestness, "I like St. James's Park a great deal better." I
observed several ladies with their "petits chapeaux," and I must do them
the justice to say they are much handsomer than the French, German, or
Dutch.... English Curricles, coaches, and Chariots are to be seen, and
some few English horses, which are certainly better calculated for speed
and pleasant driving than the heavy breed of this country. Flanders
Mares--as Henry VIII. tells us by comparing his queen to one--have never
been remarkable for elegance and activity, and I was much entertained in
seeing an Englishman break in a couple of these for a Tandem.

...At our Table d'hôte, where we met nothing but English merchants, I
heard the report of the day that Belgium was to be a sort of independent
state, under the Prince of Orange's government, according to its old
laws and customs, and that he was to hold a court at Bruxelles.... The
Prince of Orange is now in fact gone to make his public entrance into
Bruxelles....

There is a custom that the key of the town should be presented to the
possessor or Governor of the Town on a magnificent silver-gilt plate.
When the Cossack chief came, as usual, the key was offered, which the
good, simple man quietly took, put into his pocket, and forgot to
return. When I saw the dish, the man told me this anecdote, and lamented
wofully the loss of his key, which may possibly in future turn the lock
of some dirty cupboard or other on the banks of the Don. It seems these
Cossacks were immensely rich. Latterly I have been assured they could
not fight had they been inclined, from the excessive height of their
saddles and weight of their clothes; on the one they could scarcely sit,
and with the others they could scarcely walk. They had always 3 or 4
Coats or coverings, and in the folds of these were unkennelled 1,330
Napoleons on one of them who happened to die at Bruxelles.

We quitted Antwerp after dinner yesterday for Bergen op Zoom by a new
sort of conveyance; by way of variety we "voitured" it, viz., hired a
carriage, driver, and horses for Breda on our way to Amsterdam. It was a
nice sort of Gig Phaeton, with comfortable seats for 4, the Driver on
the front bench. I fear I must retract what I said in the beginning of
this letter, as to the decided change in houses and people here. It was
most conspicuous about Malines, but on this road there was nothing
remarkable one way or the other.

Our road was, however, Dutch throughout. Upon a sort of raised dyke,
between a monotonous avenue of stunted willows, did we jog gently on,
with nothing to relieve the eye but here and there a windmill or a farm.
On our left we saw, as far as eye could reach, the Swamp (or I scarcely
know what to call it), which fills up the spaces between the Main and
South Beveland, and it almost gave me the Walcheren fever to look at it.
The Evening Gun of Flushing saluted the Sun as he sank to rest behind
these muddy isles, and we begun to fear, as night drew on, that we
should have to take up our night's lodging in the Gig, for though he
knew that the gates of the Fortress were closed at 9, our sturdy
Dutchman moved not a peg the faster. However, we escaped the evil, and
10 minutes before 9 we passed the drawbridge of the ditch leading to the
Antwerp gate, which had been the grave of the 1st Column of Guards, led
by General Cooke, on the 8th March....

                                     NOTE.

     _Storming of Bergen op Zoom, March 8, 1814._--Sir Thomas Graham had
     landed 6,000 men on October 7, 1813, in S. Beveland, in order to
     combine with the Prussians to drive the French from Holland.

     On March 8, 1814, he led 4,000 British troops against Bergen op
     Zoom. They were formed into four columns, of which two were to
     attack the fortifications at different points; the third to make a
     false attack; the fourth to attack the entrance of the harbour,
     which is fordable at low water.

     The first, led by Major-General Cooke, incurred some delay in
     passing the ditch on the ice, but at length established itself on
     the rampart.

     The right column, under Major-General Skerret and Brigadier-General
     Gore, had forced their way into the body of the place, but the fall
     of General Gore and the dangerous wounds of Skerret caused the
     column to fall into disorder and suffer great loss in killed,
     wounded, and prisoners. The centre column was driven back by the
     heavy fire of the place, but re-formed and marched round to join
     General Cooke. At daybreak the enemy turned the guns of the place
     on the unprotected rampart and much loss and confusion ensued.
     General Cooke, despairing of success, directed the retreat of the
     Guards, and, finding it impossible to withdraw his weak battalions,
     he saved the lives of his remaining men by surrender.

     The Governor of Bergen op Zoom agreed to a suspension of
     hostilities for an exchange of prisoners. The killed were computed
     at 300, prisoners, 1,800.--ED.

LETTER XIII.

HAGUE, _August 4, 1814._

Sterne pities the man who could go from Dan to Beersheba and say that
all was barren, and I must pity the man who travels from Bergen op Zoom
to Amsterdam and says that Holland, with all its flatness, is not worth
visiting.

    "Oh Willow, Willow, Willow, here
     Each stands bowing to another,
     And every Alley finds its brother."

Nature never abhorred a vacuum more than she herself is abhorred by
these Dutchmen; here rivers run above their levels and cattle feed where
fishes were by nature intended to swim. Hogarth's line of beauty is
unknown in Holland. No line can be either beautiful or palatable except
that which (defined mathematically) is the shortest that can be drawn
between two given points. But I have yet a great deal to say before I
come to these roads. I left you at Bergen op Zoom, just arrived. On
Sunday morning, after a little enquiry, we were glad to find there was a
Protestant French Church in the town, and thither we went. I cannot say
much for the sermon; it was on I Cor. vii. 20, in which a great deal of
French display of vehemence and action made up in some degree for a
feeble prolixity of words; in one part, however, he made an appeal,
which has at least had the effect of eloquence and certainly came home
to the heart. He described the miseries the country had so long endured
and the happy change which had now taken place. But while he blest the
change he lamented the tears which must be shed from the fatal effects
of the war which produced it; and then turning to us, whom he perceived
to be Englishmen, he proceeded: "It is for us to lament the sad disaster
which this town was doomed to witness in the loss of our friends (our
Compatriots, I may say), who shed their blood for the restoration of our
liberties." After church I went into the vestry to tell him who and what
I was. As an Englishman he shook me by the hand, and when he understood
I was a Protestant minister he shook it again. Had he asked me to dine I
should have accepted his invitation, but unluckily he lost my company by
paying what he conceived to be a greater compliment. Like an Indian
warrior, he offered the calumet of peace and begged I would go home and
_smoke_ with him. Now, I would have gone through a good deal to have had
some conversation with him, but really on one of the hottest days of
July, when I was anxious, moreover, to inspect the fortification,
smoking would not do, and taking our leave he sent his schoolmaster, an
intelligent man who had a brother a Captain in one of our assaulting
regiments, to be our guide and tell the melancholy tale.... And now let
me see if I can make that clear to you which has never been made clear
to anybody yet. "At 10 o'clock," said our guide, "I was at supper with a
little party, some French officers being present; about half after 10
some musket shots were heard; this was no uncommon sound and we took no
notice; however, it rather increased, and the French sent a sergeant to
know the cause, and remained chatting quietly. In about ten minutes in
burst the sergeant, 'Vite, vite, à vos portes! Les Anglais sont dans la
ville.'" I need not add the party broke up in a hurry; our Guide sallied
forth with the rest, and went on the Ramparts for _curiosity_, but
whilst he was gratifying this passion, on a pitch dark night, down drops
a man who stood near him, and whiz flew some bullets, upon which he took
to his heels, got home, and saw no more; indeed, had he been inclined it
would have been impossible, for Patrols paraded the streets and shot
every one who was not a French soldier. Thus far our schoolmaster was an
eye-witness; for the remainder you must trust to my account from as
minute an enquiry as I could make upon the spot with Sir T. Graham's
dispatches in my hand, which threw very little light upon the subject.

[Illustration: BERGEN OP ZOOM.

    A. The Steenbergen Gate.
    B. Breda Gate.
    C. Antwerp Gate.
    D. Water Gate.
    E. Picket of veteran French Soldiers.
    F. River or creek running into the town.
    G. Side from whence the English approach.
    H. Bastion near Breda Gate.

Under the guidance of some inhabitants who had fled to the English, soon
after 10 o'clock, March 8th, the ground covered with snow and ice, our
troops marched in silence to their respective posts. The Guards, led by
General Cooke, were to go round towards B and C, at A a false attack was
to be made; another column was to force open the gates at B, and the
4th column, led by Generals Skerret and Gore, proceeded by the dotted
line, crossed the river up to their middle, and skirting round between
the works were the first to enter the town behind some houses which
fronted the Quay. Hitherto all went on well, and the object of all the
Columns was to concentrate at G, but no sooner had the 4th Column gained
its point (from what cause nobody knows, for I cannot conceive that the
immediate loss of its two Generals was the sole cause) than all
subordination seems to have been at an end, and the men, instead of
going on, occupied themselves with revelling and drinking and getting
warm in the houses by the Quay, and though many prisoners were taken,
they were imprudently left unguarded with arms in their hands, which
they very soon turned against their captors with fatal success. The
doors and windows in this part of the town bore evidence of the business
which for a short time was carried on. The Guards gained their point,
and so did the Column at B in part, for the French were killed in great
numbers on Bastion H, in fact, eleven Bastions were taken, and all
before midnight; but from this period till 7 in the morning, when the
affair closed, I can give you no clear account. Nobody seemed to know
what was doing, all appears to have been confusion--not a gun was
spiked, none were turned towards the Town. In the meantime the French
were no inactive observers of what was passing; they came forward most
manfully, fighting hand to hand, and though I could not find out that
there was the slightest reason for suspecting they were at all prepared
beyond what was usual, or aware of the attack, they contrived to be
instantly at the right point, and though with barely 3,000 men to defend
works, the inner circle of which is at least 2 miles in circumference,
and with 3,900 men attacking, they remained master of the field, killing
near 400 and taking 1,500 prisoners. The French General was an elderly
man who left all to his Aide de Camp. He was, in fact, the head, and has
been rewarded most deservedly in the ribbon of the Legion of Honor. The
French, it is supposed, lost 5 or 600 men. The number was certainly
great, and they were aware of it, for they buried their dead directly,
to prevent the possibility of counting. The Bergen op Zoom people say it
is utterly impossible to account for the failure of the assault but on
the supposition that the English were led to conclude that the French
would make no resistance or that they were badly officered. I should be
sorry to believe the latter, and yet I heard from good authority that
many of these, instead of encouraging their men at the Water post gate,
were actually busied in collecting braziers and fires to warm themselves
and rest upon their arms.

It may be supposed that wading on such a night upwards of 50 yards in
mud and water must have been dreadfully cold, but I can scarcely
conceive that upon a service so important cold could have any influence;
however, never having led an assault under such circumstances I can be
no judge. Were I to give my own opinion, it would be this: That the
affair was entrusted to certain General officers who were unfortunately
killed in the beginning of the action; that no precautions appear to
have been provided against such accidents, and no remedy applied to the
confusion thereby created--the Columns knew not what to do, each on
gaining its point possibly waiting for orders to proceed; that the
darkness increased the confusion--in short, that "the right hand knew
not what the left hand did," and that the French acted with incomparable
bravery and skill. It should be added that most of their troops were
conscripts. It is an ugly story altogether, and I shall say no more. A
sketch of the works in and near the Antwerp gate will give you some idea
of the spot which has proved the grave of so many fine officers and men.
At 4 o'clock we quitted the town for Breda--the greatest part of the
road inexorably flat and uninteresting; but what is lost in the country
is gained in the Towns, villages, and people--they are _sui generis_.
For 3 hours did we toil through a deep sand between parallel lines of
willows of the same size, shape, and dimensions; then for 3 hours more
did we proceed at a foot pace over a common; this brought us to Breda
just in time for the gates, through which we trotted to the usual rattle
of drawbridges, chains, &c. By the bright light of the moon at night and
earliest dawn of the following morning we rambled through the streets.
Breda was one of the last towns which got rid of its French garrison
without a siege; it departed one night without beat of drum, and the
Cossacks came in to breakfast, leaving the trembling inhabitants to
doubt whether in escaping Scylla they were not approaching Charybdis.
However, they behaved tolerably well. "Did they pillage?" said I to a
Breda lady who travelled with us in the Diligence. "Oh non," she
replied; "seulement quelque fois ils prenaient des choses sans payer."
Thus a Cossack comes into a Shop, makes signs he wants some Cloth. The
Dutchman, delighted with the idea of accommodating a new purchaser,
takes down his best pieces. The Cossack looks them over, fixes on one,
takes it up, pops it under his arm, and walks off, leaving the
astonished vendor gaping behind his counter to meditate on the Profits
of this new verbal ceremony.

After the Cossacks came the Prussians, who remained a long time and were
little better than the French--they lodged in free quarters, domineered
without mercy, and paid for nothing. All the Prussian officers I have
seen appeared gentleman-like men, but they are nowhere popular. The
English succeeded the Prussians, they were all "charmants"; then came
the Dutch who were "comme ça," but then "n'importe" they were their own
countrymen. I rather begin to like the Dutch women. The next day in the
Diligence we had my present informant, a lively, talkative damsel of
Breda, a very pretty girl of the same town who talked nothing but
Dutch, and an old Lady who would have been perfect if everything had
been as charming as her Dress.

[Illustration: DUTCH DILIGENCE ON BOARD A BOAT.]

The Ladies are elegant and apparently well-behaved, with all the
liveliness of the French. We met with no adventures till we came to a
river; here a regiment of Dutch cavalry impeded our progress and luckily
gave us time to get our breakfast; the next river brought us in contact
with a detachment of Artillery waggons. Our Diligence consisted of a
Machine with 6 seats inside, a cabriolet in which sat Edward and myself,
on a little seat before us the driver with his legs dangling for want of
a footboard. His patience had been rather put to the test by the
cavalry, but the Artillery quite upset him, and on getting entangled
amongst their train, uttering two of the French words he had learnt from
his servitude under the Emperor, viz., "sacré bleu," he popped his pipe
into his pocket, threw the reins into my hands, and jumped down to
request the Officer's permission to pass. Under existing circumstances I
confess I did not much like the responsibility of the charge committed
to me, but fortunately our conductor soon returned with permission to
pass. We got out while he drove his 4 in hand quietly into the boat,
every cranny of which was filled up by soldiers and artillery horses,
which, as if to shew off the pomp of war, capered and reared before our
sedate steeds, who only wanted pipes in their mouths to rival the
impenetrable gravity of their driver. It is necessary to cross the Waal
before you get to Gorum. When we got to the bank not a boat was to be
had. With some difficulty at last our Coachman procured a miserable punt
with a boy. What with our Trunks and passengers we were quite enough for
it; indeed, the female part of our crew hesitated for some time; and
well they might, for no sooner had we shoved from the shore than a leak
was discovered which threatened serious consequences. It gained rapidly;
the old Lady above mentioned was in despair, and sat with her thumb
crammed over the spouting orifice the whole time, while a young man
baled with his shoes as fast as possible. This was not all. The Stream
carried us down, and our driver--no great sailor--caught crabs at every
other pull; then we got upon a bank. Really I begun to think it would be
quite as well to be safe now, but as for _fear_, it was out of the
question, the lamentations of the women, and terrors of the old lady in
particular, kept us quite in Spirits. The last event was the total
overthrow of the driver by a sudden bump against the bank. Poor fellow!
he was not only well drenched, but his head cut by falling against the
seat of the boat in his overturn. Though every nerve vibrated with
compassion, it was quite impossible to avoid laughing. Luckily a glass
of vinegar well rubbed upon the wound soon set him to rights and good
humor. Gorum and Naard were the last two towns which the French
retained, and poor Gorum suffered sadly. The Suburbs, Tea gardens,
avenues, walks, &c., were all destroyed by the French to prevent the
Prussians coming in, and their houses and heads knocked about with shot
and shells to drive the French out. Luckily the French listened to the
entreaties of the people and capitulated.

I wish they would bombard Knutsford or Macclesfield or some of our Towns
for an hour or two, just to shew them what war is. Bang, whiz, down
comes a shell and away goes a house. War and slavery have quite
reconciled the Dutch to the abdication of Napoleon. In answer to the
question, "Êtes vous content de ces changements?" you meet with no
doubtful shrug of the shoulders, no ambiguous "mais que, oui"; an
instantaneous extra whiff of satisfaction is puffed forth, accompanied
with the synonimous terms, "Napoleon et Diable." On leaving Gorum we
acquired an accession of passengers--a protestant clergyman and a fat
man, who looked much like a conjurer or alchymist. A protestant
clergyman in Holland may be known by his dress--a cocked hat of a
peculiar model covers a lank head of unpowdered hair. Nothing white
appears throughout but the pipe in his mouth and cravat round his neck,
a long black coat down to his ancles, with black worsted stockings and
gold-headed cane. I must say they do not look over and above agreeable,
and as they hate all innovations few have learnt French, so that I have
been foiled in most of my attempts at conversation.

From Gorum to Utrecht the country improves; we had hitherto travelled
sometimes on Dyke tops, sometimes in Dyke bottoms which only required
the efforts of a few able-bodied rats to let the water in upon us. It is
quite surprising to see on what a precarious tenure Holland is held.
Take but a Dyke away, overturn one dam, and see what discord
follows--and this does sometimes happen. In 1809 the Ice broke through
near Gorum and carried away countless houses, men, cattle, &c. I have
said the country improved, _i.e._, we got into a land of villas and
Trees, some of them beautifully laid out, and all, stable included,
bright and clean as possible. Each, too, has its Summer house perched by
the Canal side and (the Evening being fine) well filled with parties of
ladies and gentlemen. The road for many miles was ornamented with wooden
triumphal arches and hung with festoons of flowers, &c., as a compliment
to the Emperor Alexander, who passed about a month ago....

...We arrived at Amsterdam on Monday night; here, again, all was new.
Hitherto we had rode in Carriages of various descriptions _with_ wheels,
but in Amsterdam you have them without wheels, drawn by a fine horse and
driven by a man who walks by the side with his long reins....

[Illustration: GOAT CARRIAGE FOR THE LITTLE KING OF ROME.]

But what delighted me more than anything else was the prospect of
suiting Owen and Mary exactly. What think you of a Goat Curricle? Goats
are regularly trained for draught, and are the prettiest things in the
world, trotting in neat harness with two or three children. I shall,
if I have time at Rotterdam, see if I can get a pair. Buonaparte was so
delighted with them that he ordered 4 for the King of Rome. Amsterdam is
a very large, gloomy town, intersected in all directions by water,
monotonous in the extreme. Had I not been convinced by the evidence of
my senses in looking down from a house top on several objects I had
visited in different parts of the town, I should have suspected that our
Laquais de place had amused himself by walking up and down the same
street where Canals with trees on each side do not keep the houses
asunder; high buildings and narrow streets of dark, small brown brick
constitute the character of the town, and, having seen one, you have
seen the whole. In the course of my walk I heard that two or three
Englishmen were settled in the town. I called on one, the Revd. Mr.
Lowe, with little of the Englishman left but the language. He had been
there 30 years and held a Presbyterian Church. I asked him if Napoleon
troubled the English settlers during the war. He said that, provided
they conformed quickly to the laws and regulations, they experienced no
persecution. Upon my asking if it was at all necessary to conceal his
extraction, he exclaimed, "What, conceal my extraction, deny my country?
Not for all the Emperors in the world. No, I have too much conscience
and independence. To be sure, I was obliged by law to pray for the
health and prosperity of Buonaparte every Sunday. But what signified
that? God Almighty understood very well what I meant, and that I
heartily wished his death all the time." By long residence in Holland,
he had adopted a good portion of Dutch impenetrability and slowness. He
assured us nothing short of a week could give us the least chance of
seeing the curiosities of Amsterdam, and when I told him that we were
(according to our common custom of early rising) to be in North Holland
by 6 o'clock in the morning, and had seen all by 11 o'clock which
occupies a Dutchman's whole day, and gave him a few instances of our
mode of operation, he threw himself back, raised his cocked hat to
examine us more thoroughly, put his arms akimbo and exclaimed, "How do
you support human nature. It must expire under such fatigue," and I
found it quite impossible to convince him that my health for the last
month had been infinitely better than usual. But, after all, I fear you
will find me growing old. I had a compliment paid to my grey hairs, in
coming from Utrecht, which must be mentioned. The fat Alchymist, above
mentioned, squeezed himself into Edward's place in the Diligence; on
remonstrating to a young Dutch gentleman who spoke French, he replied,
"Que c'était vraiment impoli mais que c'était un viellard à qui on
devait céder quelque chose, et je vous assure, Monsieur, comme vous êtes
aussi un peu agé si vous aviez pris ma place je vous l'aurais cédé." In
Amsterdam there is little to be seen but the Palais, in which there is a
splendid collection of Flemish pictures--two or three of the finest of
Rembrandt--and without exception the most splendid room I have seen in
Europe. It is the great Hall of audience; King Louis[92] has fitted up
everything in grand style. We went over what the Dutchmen cry up as an
object which it would be unpardonable not to see--the Felix meritus, a
sort of Lecture room with some wretched museums attached. I found
nothing to interest me but a capital figure of a Dutchman, who came also
to see the wonders. Nothing could exceed his attitudes as he looked with
an eye of incredulity whilst they explained a planetarium, examined with
an air of conscious safety a snake corked up in a bottle, and ogled with
terror a skeleton which grinned at him out of his case. I walked round
and tried his perspective in all directions, and rather blushed when,
with treacherous condescension, I requested him to use my Glass that I
might see how he looked peeping thro' a Telescope. This is such a Museum
as will furnish me with samples of oddities for the rest of my life.

LETTER XIV.

_August_ 6, 1814.

Luckily we have a commodious cabin in the _Trechschuyt_, and no smoke or
other intruders, so where I finished my last I will begin another.

[Illustration: TABLE D'HOTE, AMSTERDAM.

_To face page 226._]

As to the country, a peep once an hour will be sufficient; I will look
out of the window and give you the result--five plover, a few fat cows,
a good many rushes, and a canal bridge. At Amsterdam we dined at a
regular Dutch table d'hôte; about 20 people, all of them eaters, few
talkers; the quantity of vegetables consumed was quite surprising. With
the last dish a boy came round with pipes and hot coals, which were soon
followed by a tremendous explosion of Tobacco from a double line of
smokers, and as if the simple operation of puffing in and puffing out
was too much for these drowsy operators, many of them leaned back in
their chairs, put their hands in their breeches pockets, shut their
eyes, and carried on the war with one end of the pipe in their mouths
and the other leaning on their plates. On Wednesday, Aug. 3rd, we
crossed the Gulf by sun rise on a little tour into North Holland, to see
the Village of Brock and Saardam, where the house in which the Czar
Peter worked still exists. We landed at Buiksloot, from whence carriages
are hired to different parts of the country. From Breda to Amsterdam
they varied the Diligences according to the number of travellers;
sometimes we had a coach and four, and then a machine and three, and as
our number diminished we were forwarded the last stage or two in a
vehicle perfectly nondescript with two horses; it was a sort of cart
painted white, hung upon springs, with an awning, but it was reserved
for this morning to see us in a carriage far beyond anything before seen
or heard of. I am inclined to think it must have been the identical
equipage (for it was a little the worse for wear) which the fairy
produced from the gourd for the service of Cinderella--a sort of Phaeton
lined with red flowered velvet, the whole moulding beautifully carved
and gilt, the panels well painted with flowers, birds, urns, &c., the
wheels red and gold. It contained two seats for four persons, and a
coach box painted, carved, and gilt like the body of the carriage; the
whole was in a Lilliput style drawn by two gigantic black horses, whose
tails reached above the level of our heads. It was exactly suited to the
place where we were going, the village of Brock, which, like our
vehicle, was unlike anything I had seen before. I have, in former
letters, talked of Dutch cleanliness and neatness, but what is all I
have said compared with Brock? Even the people have their jokes upon its
superiority in this particular, and assert that the inhabitants actually
wash and scrub their wood before they put it on the fire. Lady Penrhyn's
cottages must yield the palm, they are only internally washed and
painted, but in Brock, Tops and bottoms, Outside and in, bricks and all,
are constantly under the discipline of the paint brush, and as if Nature
was not sufficiently clean in her operations, the stems of several of
their trees were white washed too! In fact, nothing seemed to
escape--the Milk pails were either burnished brass or painted buckets,
and the little straw baskets the women carried in their hands came in
for their share of blue, red, or green. They have such a dread of dirt,
that entrance is limited to the back door only, the opening of the
front door being reserved for grand occasions, such as weddings,
funerals, &c. It is not accessible by carriages and horses, on account
of several canals which intersect it; these sometimes widen, and in one
part the houses stand round a pretty little lake. I can give you no
better idea of the scene than a Chinese paper, whose neat summer houses
and painted boats are all mixed together. Most houses have each a
separate garden, kept in style equally clean. I really believe my own
dusty shoes were the most impure things in the whole village.

We returned to Buiksloot and then proceeded to Saardam, on the top of a
Dyke, which keeps the sea from inundating the vast levels of North
Holland. Saardam might be held up as the pattern of neatness had I not
visited Brock first; as it is, I can only say that, though four times as
large, it seems to be its rival in cleanliness and paint. The number of
windmills is quite astonishing; it would require an army of Don
Quixotes. I counted myself upwards of 130 in and close to the town; they
say there are 1,200. Windmills seem great favourites with the Dutch. In
the Diligence near Utrecht my neighbour roused me by a sudden
exclamation, "Oh la vue superbe!" I looked, and beheld 14 of them in a
Dyke! and yesterday, on asking the Laquais de place if we should see
anything curious at Saardam besides the Czar's house, he replied, "Oh
que, oui--beaucoup de Moulins!" Peter the Great's house is a small
wooden cottage close to the town, remarkable for nothing but having been
his.

[Illustration: SAARDAM.

_To face page 228._]

Alexander had put up two little marble Tablets over the fireplace,
commemorating his visit to the Imperial residence, on which something
good and pointed might have been inscribed; as they are, it is merely
stated that Alexander placed them on, and that Mrs. Von Tets Von Groudam
stood by, delighted to see him so employed. We returned to Amsterdam by
3 o'clock and left it at 4 for Haarlem. In Protestant countries
Cathedrals are not always open; we found that at Haarlem open and a
numerous congregation listening to a very respectable, venerable-looking
preacher, whose voice and manner, style and action approached
perfection. His eloquence, however, seemed to be in vain, for I observed
many sleepers; and what had an odd effect, though customary in their
country, the men with their hats on; they take them off, I believe,
during prayers, but put them down during the sermon; we ascended the
tower and enjoyed as extensive a view as heart could wish. The sea of
Haarlem is an immense lake separated from the Gulf by a flood gate and
narrow dam. The French had a block house and batteries here. In truth,
Holland does not require above 20 guns to keep out all the enemies in
the world. Different, indeed, are the Dutch from the French in the
facility and liberality of access to their curiosities. It required some
eloquence and more money to induce the key-keeper to let us go up; and
on asking whether the Organ was to play, he assured us it was not, but
that if we wished it, the performer would sound the notes for 16
_shillings_; this was a gross imposition to which we were little
inclined to submit; but luckily, as we were coming down, we heard it
opening its great bellows and re-echoing through the body of the church.
We almost broke our necks in running downstairs, and leaving the Dutch
guide to take care of himself, we found our way into the Organ loft, to
the visible annoyance of the performer, who, seeing we were strangers,
thought himself sure of his eight florins, but his duty and the Church
service compelled him to go on, and he shook his head and growled in
vain at our guide, who at this time appeared, intimating that he should
take us away, as having no business there, but in vain. I heard the
Organ, counted the 68 stops, examined at my leisure the stupendous
instrument, while he was under the necessity of continuing his
involuntary voluntary, till my curiosity was satisfied. We took up our
residence at an Hotel _in the Wood_, so-called from being the place of
promenade and site of the new palace, but _ci-devant_ residence of Mrs.
Hope, and, in fact, from being also a respectable wood of tolerably
sized trees.

[Illustration: PETER THE GREAT'S HOUSE, SAARDAM.

_To face p. 230._]

By the best chance in the world here, too, we fell in with a fête on the
river. Some great Burgomaster had married himself, and all the world of
Haarlem came forth in boats, decorated with colors, and bands of music
in procession up the river to pass in review before the Princess of
Orange, an elderly-looking woman. She sat in the window of a summer
house overlooking the river, and the festive procession assembled before
her. It was a lovely evening, and nothing could be more gay and
animating than the scene. We this morning at 6 quitted Haarlem in the
boat in which I am now writing as comfortably as in my own room, the
motion scarcely perceptible, about 5 miles an hour; by good luck few
passengers, and those above looking at a man who is at this incessant
Dutch employment of painting. The boat is as clean as a china dish, but
possibly it may not have been painted since last week. Edward has just
daubed his hand by looking out of the window. I am rather puzzled in
getting on here. Very little French is spoken; among the common people
none, and we converse by signs.

...Their money, too, is puzzling beyond measure. My stock consists of 5
franc pieces (French), upon which, exclusive of their not always
understanding what they are, there is a discount; this, of course, adds
to the confusion, and now I despair of understanding the infinite
variety of square, hexagon, round coins of copper and silver and base
metal which pass through my hands.

We passed two hours at Leyden as actively employed as a Foxhunter. We
found a man who spoke French, told him our wishes, gave him a list of
what was to be seen in the town, and then desired him to start,
following him on the full trot up and down churches, colleges,
Townhalls, &c. These towns are so much alike, that having seen one the
interest is considerably lessened. Leyden, however, has the honour of
possessing one of the finest streets in Holland; though capable of
accommodating 65,000 souls, there are not more than 20,000, which gives
it a melancholy appearance. In one part there is an area of about 3 or 4
Cheshire acres planted with trees and divided with walls, which in 1807
was covered, like the rest of the town, with good houses, but it
happened that a barge full of gunpowder passing through the canal, blew
up, killed 200 people, including a very clever Professor Lugai, and
destroyed all the houses. It was a sad catastrophe, to be sure; but now,
as it is all over, and all the good people's mourning laid aside, I
think the Town may be congratulated as a gainer. I could fill up my
letter with the anatomical preparations of the celebrated Albinus; but
though I am very partial to these sights, I doubt whether you would be
amused by a description of dried men, with their hearts, lungs, and
brains suspended in different bottles. The town is full of booksellers'
shops, in which capital Classics might be procured and divers others old
books. The windows were also well filled with new works translated into
Dutch; few, I think, original; amongst others, I saw "Ida of
Athens!"[93] ...

[Illustration: DUTCH FISHERMEN.]

It is not easy to trace the sieges of Philip 2nd in these towns, as the
fortifications are most of them extinct, fortresses of more modern
construction being now the keys of the country. Neat villas and gardens
by the canal side marked our approach to the seat of government--and a
very first-rate Town the Hague is, though I cannot conceive how the
people escape agues and colds in Autumn. Stagnant canals and pools, with
all circulation of air checked by rows of trees, cannot be healthy.
Unfortunately for us, Lord Clancarty is at Bruxelles with the Prince of
Orange. The Hague appears, from what I have seen, to be a better town
for permanent residence than Bruxelles or Antwerp. The houses are all
good, which implies a superior quality of inhabitants. In the evening we
took a drive to Scheveningen, a fishing village about 2 or 3 miles
distant, through a delightful avenue. It is one of the fashionable
resorts of the town, and is absolute perfection on a hot day, though
pregnant with damp and dew in the evening. I told you of dog carts at
Bruxelles, but here seems to be the region of despotic sway of the poor
beasts. I believe that I am not wrong in stating that nearly all the
fish is carried by them from Scheveningen to the Hague; and the weight
they draw is surprising. We passed many canine equipages; in one sat a
fisherman and his wife drawn by three dogs not much bigger than
Pompey--he with his pipe in his mouth, she with an enormous Umbrella
Hat, as grave as Pluto and Proserpine. I saw several nice goat gigs;
moreover, I am determined to have one for Owen....

...It is quite extraordinary with what excessive silence and gravity
these people carry on their affairs. On returning from Scheveningen at a
good round trot, we came in contact with another carriage. Luckily no
other accident happened than breaking their traces and grinding their
wheels. But though disabled by our driver, not a syllable of complaint
or commiseration was uttered by one party or the other. Our driver
proceeded, leaving them to take care of themselves. I observed, too,
that in manœuvering the Vessel in passing the Gulf yesterday, where some
tacks were necessary, all was performed in perfect silence; no
halloo-ing--a nod or a puff was alone sufficient....

And so are we coming to the close of our Tour--our next stage will be
Rotterdam, from whence I shall bear my own dispatches.... In the course
of my life this last month will bear a conspicuous place from the
interesting and delightful scenes it has afforded me. I must confess I
left England with some waverings and misgivings; the accounts of others
led me to expect that disappointments, difficulties, and great expense
would be the inevitable accompaniments of my course. But in no instance
have I been disappointed, the difficulties too trifling to deserve the
name, the expense nothing compared with the profits derived, and I have
seen enough of men and manners, of things animate and inanimate, to make
me quite at home in some of the great scenes which have just been
performed....

[Illustration: DUTCH CARRIAGE.]

CHAPTER VI

THE WATERLOO YEAR

Lord Sheffield's forebodings--Talleyrand and the Senate--Vagabond
Royalty--Mr. North and Napoleon--The rout of the Bourbon
Government.

1814-1816.

The two years which intervened between Edward Stanley's second and third
visits to France saw the Empire regained and lost by Napoleon, and the
French Crown lost and regained by Louis XVIII.

In spite of the rose-coloured description of the comforts and pleasures
of his journey with which the correspondence of 1814 closes, neither the
Rector nor his brother found it possible to travel on the Continent in
1815, which Lady Maria had foretold would be "a much more favourable
time."

Such hopes must soon have been dashed by the proceedings of the Congress
of Vienna, which, as was said, "danse mais n'avance pas," and gloomy
forebodings are shewn in two letters from Lord Sheffield to his
son-in-law, which were received at Alderley in the autumn of 1814 and
the spring of 1815.

The first gives Lord Sheffield's view of the situation, and the second
describes Napoleon's own remarks upon it to Lord Sheffield's nephew, Mr.
Frederick Douglas.

_Lord Sheffield to Sir John Stanley_.

SHEFFIELD PLACE, _October 30, 1814_.

It is time I should provoke some symptom of your existence. I have no
letters from Frederick North,[94] but I can acquaint you that we had
himself here, which is still better, and that he has been infinitely
entertaining, after three or four months' tour on the Continent, from
whence he arrived about three weeks ago, and where he proposes to return
next week, to pass the winter at Nice with the Glenbervies and Lady
Charlotte Lindsay, who are gone there, and, I might add, with many other
English families. I begin to think I shall have more acquaintances on
the Continent than in England; the migration there is beyond
calculation.

The present is an anxious period. Perhaps there isn't in the History of
the world a more complete instance of political imbecility than was
exhibited in the late Peace at Paris, especially in the Allies not
availing themselves of the very extraordinary opportunity of securing
the tranquillity of Europe for a long time.

I conceive that the most selfish ambition will not have been more
hurtful than liberality run mad. And as I am not without apprehension of
that fanaticism, which for some time has interfered even with
Parliament, and to which there has been too much concession, I incline
to the opinion that enthusiasm, as fanaticism, is generally more hurtful
to society than scepticism. The fanatic measures are evidently
systematic and combined.

Everybody now looks eagerly towards the Congress of Vienna. Talleyrand
displays the cloven foot, by refusing to recognise the junction of all
the Netherlands. However, the Bourbons, France, and all Europe may be
thankful to Talleyrand.

You have often heard of Barthélemy.[95] His brother, a banker at Paris,
first moved in the Senate the déchéance of the Buonaparte family.
Alexander was treating respecting a Regency. The King of Prussia did not
attempt to take a lead, but was well disposed to put down the dynasty.
The Emperor of Austria had always declared that he would treat with
Buonaparte for Peace, under restrictions, still co-operating with the
Allies.

While matters were in this state Talleyrand took the opportunity of
sending a message to the Senate, saying that the family was deposed, and
by this step decided the business.

Buonaparte never showed a disposition to treat and to agree to terms;
but when he had seemingly agreed, he denied or broke off the next day.
The failure or desertion of the Marshals completed his overthrow.

It is surprising that he did not attempt to join Augereau's Army,[96]
and retire into Italy, where he had forty thousand very good troops. At
all events we must rest upon the pinnacle of glory and honour, although
we have not secured a permanency of them. By premature concession we
have yielded the means of securing the advantages we had gained.

The affair at Lake Champlain[97] has been most unlucky, as it will
encourage the Yankies, under the present inveterate and execrable
Government, to persevere in a ruinous warfare--ruinous to the American
States, and galling to this country, liable to be distracted by the
efforts of an interested and mischievous faction, which, through lack of
firmness in Government, often paralyses measures of the utmost
consequence.

I have seen several letters from Madrid, and I have one from thence now
before me of the 3rd inst.

A degree of infatuation prevails there which you could hardly conceive
possible. The account comes from a very respectable and rational
quarter. The most respectable characters are most violently persecuted,
and the persons arraigned are confined in dungeons, no communication
permitted; and persons convicted of the most atrocious acts are not even
in disgrace.

While officers and soldiers invalided by wounds are starving, the
King[98] is profuse to persons of no merit, and has given a pension of
1,000 dollars to a young lady who sang before him, &c., &c.

The Spanish Funds, which on the King's arrival were at 85, are now at
50. The Revenue is less than 20 millions of Dollars, the expenditure
nearly 50.

Spain is likely to be in as bad a state as ever, excepting the presence
of a French Army; consequently I conceive their Transatlantic Dominions
will be lost to them.

Nothing, however, could be more favourable to our Commerce than their
emancipation. Such an event, and a proper Boundary between us and the
American States, would be the most favourable result of the war to this
country.

There is an uncommonly good Pamphlet published on this subject entitled
"A completed View of the points to be discussed in treating with the
American States." I cannot do less than admire it, because it seems
taken from my shop, or at least it adopts all the principles, with a
considerable amelioration, by taking the Line of Mountains into the
Lakes, and all the Lakes within our Boundary.

I am very much entertained with an Anecdote in a letter of the 8th inst.
now before me, from Switzerland, which states that the Princess of Wales
dined a few days before with the Empress Maria Louisa and the
Archduchess Constantine,[99] at Berne, and after dinner the Empress and
Princess sang Duets, and the Archduchess accompanied them. Two years ago
nobody would have believed such an event possible.

All this vagabond Royalty is found extremely troublesome by travellers,
filling up all the beds, and carrying away all the horses. The above
dinner party reminds me of Candide meeting at the Table d'Hôte during
the Carnival at Venice, with two ex-emperors, and a few ex-kings.

The Princess of Wales could not be prevailed on to remain more than ten
days at Brunswick. She left Lady Charlotte Lindsay[100] and Serinyer
behind her, and proceeded with Lady Elizabeth Forbes to Strasburg, where
she found Talma, the renowned Actor, and halted there ten days.

_Lord Sheffield to Sir John Stanley._

SHEFFIELD PLACE, _February 1, 1815_.

We are much entertained with Fred Douglas's[101] account of his visit of
four days to the Isle of Elba.

On the third evening he had an interview with Buonaparte for an hour and
a half--the conversation very curious. He says that Buonaparte is not at
all like any of his Prints; that he is a stout, thick-set figure, which
makes him look short; his features rather coarse and his eyes very
light, and particularly dull; but his mouth, when he smiles, is full of
a very sweet, good-humoured expression; that at first he strikes you as
being a very common-looking man, but upon observing him and conversing
with him, you perceive that his countenance is full of deep thought and
decision.

He says he received him with much good humour, and talked to him of the
English Constitution, with which he seemed well acquainted; said that
France never could have the same, because it wanted one of the principal
parts of it, "Les Nobles de Campagne." He talked also much about our
church Laws, of which he appeared to be well informed, but said he heard
there was much ill humour in Scotland on account of the _Union_!
Frederick thought he meant Ireland, but found he really did mean
Scotland, and had no idea that the Union had taken place above a hundred
years ago.

He said he did not think the Peace would last; that the French Nation
would never submit long to give up Belgium, and that he would have
yielded all except that; that he would have given up the Slave Trade, as
it was a Brigandage of very little use to France. He had a most
extraordinary idea of how it should be abolished, viz., he said he
would allow Polygamy among the Whites in the West Indies, that they
might inter-marry with the Blacks, and all become Brothers and Sisters.
He said that he had consulted a Bishop upon this, who had objected to it
as contrary to the Christian Religion.

He seemed very anxious to know concerning the quarrels of the Regent and
his wife, upon which subject F., of course, evaded giving him any
answers. He said, "On dit qu'il aime la Mère de ce Yarmouth--mais vous
Anglais, vous aimez les vielles Femmes," and he laughed very much. He
avoided speaking of Maria Louisa, but spoke of Joséphine with affection,
saying, "Elle étoit une excellente Femme." He said that the motive of
his expedition into Russia was, first, that it was necessary to lead the
French Army somewhere, and then that he wished to establish Poland as an
independent kingdom; for that he had always loved the Poles, and had
many obligations to them. He talked of all his battles as you would of a
show, saying "C'étoit un Spectacle magnifique."

When Napoleon had fulfilled his own prophecies of the prompt disturbance
of the Peace of Europe by landing at Cannes, just six days from the date
of this last letter, Lord Sheffield writes again, after war had been
declared by the Allies.

_Lord Sheffield to Sir John Stanley._

SHEFFIELD PLACE, _March 24, 1815_.

I was greatly oppressed by the first intelligence of Napoleon's
Invasion. I was afterwards re-elevated, and now I am tumbled down again.

To be sure, there never was such an execrable nation as the French. The
much more respectable Hindoos could not more meekly submit to any
conqueror that chooses to run through their country at the head of a set
of miscreant soldiers. The Pretorian band that in the time of Imperial
Rome used to dispose of Empires is perfectly re-established. Immediate
notice was sent me from Newhaven of the Duke of Feltre's[102] (Minister
of War) arrival there, and of poor Louis's flight from Paris.

I immediately set out, with the intention of rendering service to the
variety of wretches that were pouring in upon our coast, English and
French, but on my way called at Stanmer, where I found that this famous
Minister of War was gone forward to London, that the few ship-loads that
had got over to Newhaven were disposed of, and an embargo having been
laid on the Ports of France, of course there was nothing more to be done
on our coast.

I returned home at night, and just as I was going out of Stanmer Park I
met the Duke of Taranto[103] entering, for whom Lord Chichester had sent
his carriage. The Duke of Feltre brought the intelligence that the King
was at Abbeville.

I was considerably annoyed, because it seemed like inclining to England,
and relinquishing all hopes of France. At Abbeville he certainly might
turn off to Lisle, where I hope he is gone, and there, if there be any
loyal Frenchmen, they may flock round his standard.

All accounts, and letters, that I have seen from France agree that the
country is almost universally against Buonaparte, and it is very clear
all the Army is for him, and that all the Marshals adhere to Louis,
except two. If so, and Napoleon has not the aid of his old Generals, he
may find it difficult to manage the many Armies that he must keep on
foot to repel the attacks that will be made on him from all sides.

I cannot help thinking he is in a bad situation still. When all the
Russians, Cossacks, Croats, Hungarians, Austrians, and all Germany
clatter round him, and our very respectable army from the Netherlands
advances, if he has nothing but the army in his favour, he will be
considerably bothered, and I hope the sentimental, silly Alexander will
never be suffered to interfere with his "beaux sentimens" in favour of
the monster. If he should be taken and I had the command I should never
trouble Alexander nor anybody else, but take him by the Drum head,
giving something like the sort of trial the Duc d'Enghien had and
immediately extinguish him by exactly the same process, ceremony, &c.,
as he practised on the Duc d'Enghien.

After all, and the worst of all, is that I apprehend we must pay the
piper to enable the above-mentioned Hordes to take possession of France,
and when there I flatter myself they will live upon the country. If we
do not make some effort of the kind, all the money we have shed may be
in a great degree thrown away. One great difficulty occurs to me, how
will it be possible to dispose of the present French Army if it should
be conquered, and how raise a French Army to maintain Louis's dominion?

If Napoleon should be utterly extinguished, it may be possible to do
something, but if he escapes (yet I know not where he can go) a large
foreign Army must remain a long time in France.

I must conclude by observing what a very extraordinary, strange creature
a Frenchman is! Instead of attending the King, or suppressing Navy
Depôts where there are only fifty loyal men, the Minister of War flies
to England, and, as he represented, in order to join the King in
Flanders. At Paris he was certainly nearer Flanders than he was at
Dieppe....

Yours ever,

SHEFFIELD.

The Victory of Waterloo ended all fears of a fresh Imperial Despotism,
and also all the hopes of those who, like Lord Sheffield and the Stanley
family, were no great admirers of the Bourbon Dynasty.

Edward Stanley's desire to revisit France was now coupled with a wish to
realise the scene of the late Campaign, and he planned his journey so as
to arrive there on the first anniversary of the battle, June 18, 1816.

He was accompanied by Mrs. Stanley, by his brother-in-law, Edward
Leycester Penrhyn,[104] who had travelled with him in 1814, and by their
mutual friend, Donald Crawford.

Mrs. Stanley's bright and graphic letters contribute to the story of
their adventures, and are added to make it complete.

[Illustration: _Corn Mills at Vernon, July 11 1816._

_To face p. 247._]

CHAPTER VII

AFTER WATERLOO

A long Channel passage--Bruges--The battlefield--A posting
journey--Compiègne--Paris--Michael Bruce.

_Mrs. E. Stanley to Lady Maria Stanley._

_Spring, 1816._

...Edward has long talked of a week at Waterloo, and all the rest of the
plan came tumbling after one day in talking it over with Edward
Leycester, as naturally as possible, and I expect almost as much
pleasure in seeing Cambridge and being introduced to the looks and
manners at least of E. L.'s friends, and in seeing him there as in
anything else. We are to pay a visit to Sir George and Lady Scovell at
Cambray, and perhaps to Sheffield Place, on our return....

ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE,
_June, 1816_.

I am very glad to have this opportunity of seeing what a college life
is, as well as seeing Cambridge itself and its contents animate and
inanimate. I like both very much.

We had a very pleasant journey. The road is not only prettier by
Ashbourne and Derby, but better, and, provided your nerves can stand
cantering down hill sometimes, you get on faster than on the other road.
We drank tea at Nottingham on Monday and went up to the Castle.

We arrived at Cambridge by 6 o'clock on Tuesday evening, and found
Edward deep in his studies....

This morning we breakfasted with George,[105] and, after seeing
libraries and people and buildings till I am tired, here I am, snug and
comfortable, in Edward's room....

We are off to-morrow for London.

_Mrs. E. Stanley to Lady Maria Josepha Stanley._

BLENHEIM HOTEL, LONDON,
_Saturday_.

As we were coming yesterday Edward looked at the wind and decided that
if Donald was not in the Thames then, he would have no chance of being
here this week. We had not been here an hour when in he walked in high
feather and gave me more reasons than I can remember for leaving his
sisters and going with us....

I have been to Waterloo[106] and in Buonaparte's carriage. He has given
an alarm by writing to France in spite of all their precautions.... We
have got our passports and arranged our going. Edward came back from the
city with three plans--the steamboat, the packet, or a coach to
ourselves to Ramsgate. We debated the three some time, at last, on the
strength of hearing that the steamboat had been out two nights on its
passage once, we decided on the coach, and the places were just secured
when Mr. Foljambe came in and told us he was going to Ramsgate on
Tuesday with some other friends of Edward's, and that it was the nicest
vessel ever seen and more punctual than any coach, which made us all
very angry as you may guess.... We set out to-morrow morning and get
into the packet at Ramsgate at 7 in the evening. Let me find a nice
folio at Paris, care of Perrigaux, Banquier, and I shall not feel your
handwriting the least interesting thing I have to see there.

_Rev. E. Stanley to his niece, Louisa Dorothea Stanley._

RAMSGATE, _June 11th_.

Rapidly went the coach from Canterbury, 17 miles in an hour and a half.
Fair blows the wind over the azure blue billow. "You will breakfast at
Ostend," says the Captain, "to-morrow." "Oh, that Louisa were here!"
says Donald. "She would die of delight," says Uncle, "and does not Uncle
say true?" Conceive the view from Nottingham Castle on the evening we
left Alderley ... a noble precipice, frowning over a magnificent plain,
from the terraces of which we beheld immediately at our feet almost
numberless--for I counted in a second 54--little pets of gardens, each
adorned with a love of a summerhouse to suit; in the corners of the
rocks many excavations and caverns fancifully cut out and carved, into
which each of the proprietors of the above-mentioned gardens might at
leisure retire and become his own hermit. Then how shall I touch upon
the delights of Cambridge? How shall I speak of Edward's beauty in his
cap, all covered with little bows, and a smart black gown? And how shall
I speak of his dinner and his party? Such merriment! Such hospitality!
Only think, Louisa, of dining, breakfasting and supping day after day
with 14 or 15 most accomplished, beautiful, and entertaining young
gentlemen! But no more, lest you expire at the thought! As for London, I
cannot well tell you what I did or saw, such a confused multiplicity of
sights and succession of business have seldom been experienced. At 6
this morning we started in the stage coach, the interior of which we
took, excluding all intruders, and from hence at 3 o'clock on a lovely
night, with an elegant moon, we embarked for Ostend.

(_Continued by Mrs. Stanley._)

I have persuaded Uncle to carry his letter over the water that you may
not have the anxiety of thinking for 2 days about the passage, which a
gentleman who dined with us to-day informed us was the most precarious,
dangerous, and uncertain known.

But I consoled myself with not believing the gentleman in the first
place, and by thinking with Aunt Clinton that as Mrs. Carleton was
drowned so lately at Ostend, it is not likely another accident should
happen at present.

Here we are, waiting for the awful moment of embarkation, which I
consider something like having a tooth out, but I live in hopes that,
having been up early this morning and had 10 hours' jumbling, I may be
sleepy enough to forget that I am on a shelf instead of a bed; so I have
been just to admire the moon as we sail out of harbour, and then go to
bed and find myself in sight of Ostend when I awake.

(_E. Stanley resumes next day._)

A dead calm succeeded to a gentle breeze, and on the soft, sleepy
billows we have reposed in the Downs, rolling ever since. To comfort us
we have a beautiful Packet and a limited number of passengers.

The discomfort consists in a rapid diminution of all our provisions and
the consequent prospect of no Tea, supper, or breakfast, or dinner
to-morrow. One sailor said to another as he was skinning some miserable
fish, "Aye, aye, they" (meaning the passengers) "will be glad enough of
these in a day or two, and I was eleven days becalmed last year."

Kitty, to fill up an hour of vacuity, said she would draw, and to fill
up my time this testifies that I have been thinking of you and wishing
for your presence, for the Novelty alone would keep you in full
effervesence and banish all Tediosity.

I have, moreover, been playing with a sweet little French dog brought by
one of the sailors from Boulogne. The sailors have daily given him two
glasses of gin to check his growth, and a marvellous dog of Lilliput he
is! Pray, my dear Lou, drink no gin, for you see the consequences.

I had retired to bed, when Edward Leycester called me up to admire a
beautiful display of Neptune's fireworks; wherever the surface of the
waves was agitated, the circles of silver flashed and the drops were
scattered far and wide.

The morning dawned upon us nearly in the same position, not a breath
troubled the surface, smooth and still as Radnor Mere on the sweetest
evening.

Famine began to stare us in the face; our provisions were nearly
exhausted; two or more days might elapse before we reached Ostend.

We breakfasted on tea, fried skate and cheese. Breakfast at an end, it
was proposed to board the nearest vessel and beg or borrow a dinner. In
the tide course appeared a sail, about five miles distant.

The boat was lowered, volunteers stepped forward--Uncle, Edward, Donald,
and a gentleman-like Belgian.

Away we went and by hard rowing we came alongside the strange sail in an
hour. Three leaden figures, motionless as the unwieldly bark they
manned, gazed curiously upon our approaching boat. Our Belgian friend
hailed, but hailed in vain. They looked but spoke not. Again he spoke,
and at length a monotonous "yaw" proclaimed that they were not dumb.

We went on board and found a perfect Dutch family on their way from
Antwerp to Rouen. Out stepped from her cabin the Captain's wife in
appropriate costume, her close little cap, large gold necklace and
ear-rings; and behind the Captain's spouse stepped forth two genuine
descendants of the nautical couple. Large round heads with large round
(what shall I say?) Hottentots to match and keep up the due balance
between head and tail.

Having explained our wants to the Captain, he produced as the chief
restorative an incomparable bottle of Schiedam, _i.e._, gin. To each he
offered a good large glass, and then in answer to our request for beef,
four bottles of excellent claret, two square loaves. For this he asked a
guinea, upon receiving which his features relaxed and he declared we
should have two more bottles of claret. Upon hearing we had a lady in
the packet he begged her acceptance of half a neat's tongue, some
butter, and a bag of rusks. Loaded with them, we took a joyful leave of
these sombre sailors and returned, with the orange cravat of our Belgian
friend for a flag, in triumph to the packet.

But a truce to my pen. Ostend is in sight, and now we are all rubbing
our hands and congratulating each other that wind and tide are in our
favour and that we shall be in in a couple of hours.

_Rev. E. Stanley to his niece, Isabella Stanley._[107]

BRUGES, _June 14, 1816_.

On our return from the Dutch vessel from which we recruited our
exhausted store, we found our poor Captain in sad tribulation, his
patience exhausted, but his temper luckily preserved. Having paced his
deck with a fidgeting velocity a due number of times, peeped thro' his
glass at every distant sail or cloud to observe whether they were in any
degree movable, and invoked Boreas in the most pitiable terms such as
"Oh Borus! Now do, good Borus just give us a blow," we had the
satisfaction at length, the supreme satisfaction, of perceiving a gentle
curl upon the water which soon settled into a steady breeze, before
which we glided away, delightfully enjoying our dinner upon the deck,
during which our party manifested their respective characters in most
charming style. One Farmer Dinmont[108] and Dousterswivel, a Dutchman,
were perfect specimens. A merry Belgian Equerry to the Prince of Orange,
laughed, joked, and amused us with sleight-of-hand tricks. Our Dutch
beef, tho' doubtless salt far beyond due proportion, was relished by
all, Dinmont excepted, who pronounced it, together with the
dark-coloured bread, unfit for English hogs, and shook his head with a
most significant expression of doubt at my assertion that I never
enjoyed a better dinner in my life. At five o'clock the low sand hills
appeared to view in little nodules upon the horizon, and the Steeple of
Ostend with its Lighthouse were visible from deck. At 6 we were close in
upon land, and in half an hour were boarded by a Dutch boat, but alas!
there was nothing in its appearance to excite curiosity, and with the
exception of large earrings you might have fancied yourself in Holyhead
Harbour. Four stout, tall fellows, hard and resolute in feature and
decided in action, proclaimed their near alliance to British Jack Tars.
They remained a little while and tried to cheat the passengers as much
as possible, to take us on shore, but finding us determined to remain
till the Captain could get his own boat ready, they shrugged their
shoulders, abused us in Dutch, and sailed away. We were too many for one
boat, so taking Kitty and the best of our English passengers and honest
Farmer Dinmont, with all the luggage, we pushed off from the vessel.
People of all descriptions, pilots, sailors, customs officers, soldiers,
waiters soliciting customs for their respective turns. Porters regular
and irregular, the latter consisting of a sort of light Infantry corps
of ragged boys. All these people, I say, were crowded together on a
little peninsular jetty against which our boat was shoved, and no sooner
had the oars ceased to play and our keel cleared the sand than all these
people set up their pipes in every dialect of every tongue, French and
English both bad of their sort, Dutch high and low, Flemish and German.
All burst upon us at one and the same moment, and the Cossack corps of
ragged porters all stept forward, arm, leg and foot, to claim the honour
of carrying up (most probably of carrying off) our baggage. By dint of
words fair and foul, a shove here and a push there, I contrived to get
Kitty under my arm and superintend, tho' with no small trouble and
inconceivable watchfulness, the adjustment of our small portmanteaux,
writing case, &c., in a wheelbarrow, which, from its formidable length
of handle, bespoke its foreign manufacturer. On we jogged, but jogged
not long; for before this accumulating procession could disperse we were
arrested by a whiskered soldier, who in unintelligible terms announced
himself a searcher of baggage. So to the custom house we went, when each
trunk was opened and submitted to a slight inspection; the chief
difficulty consisting in putting myself in 2 places at once--one close
to the depôt of our goods in the barrow, the other before the officer
with the keys. Kitty was wedged in a corner with a writing case and, I
think, Donald's sword. My English companion was equally on the alert,
but Farmer Dinmont would have excited all your compassion, or rather
admiration; for here amidst the din of tongues and arms, unable to move
hand or foot, he stood with a smile of mingled resignation and wonder;
at length, the search being concluded to the satisfaction of both
parties, we re-commenced our course, and in a few minutes Kitty found
herself in a new world. Women and children unlike any women and children
you ever saw; close caps with butterfly wings for the former, little
black skull bonnets for the latter, in shape both alike, much resembling
those toys which, if placed on their heads, by their superior specific
gravity and extensive sacrifice of their lower projections instantly
revolve and settle upon their tails.

"Voici, Messieurs et Madame, entrons dans la Cour Impériale," and
another moment hoisted us within the covered gateway of this Hotel of
Imperial appellation. Our arrangements for sleeping and eating being
complete, we sat down on a bench before the door to gaze, but not to be
gazed upon, for the good people never cast an eye upon us. On retiring
to tea, good Farmer Dinmont's countenance relaxed as he flung himself
into a chair; he put his hands upon the table and exclaimed, "Well,
well, here I am sitting down for the first time out of Old England!" ...
A cup of tea, or rather a kettle full, for our salt beef had kindled an
insatiable thirst, put him in good humour again, and, but for a sort of
sigh or a look or a jerk which proved Old England to be uppermost in his
thoughts, he appeared quite satisfied. With some trouble Kitty secured
the fly cap chambermaid and had taken possession of her room; having
seen her safe, I descended to give orders for a warming-pan, leaving her
(after having been 2 nights in her clothes) to the luxury of an entire
change of linen and course of ablutions. On re-crossing the court 10
minutes afterwards I ran against a waiter running off with a
warming-pan, glowing with red-hot embers. "Mais donc" said I, "Madame
wants a warming-pan. Allons, where is the chambermaid to carry it?" "Oh,
n'importe," replied this flying Mercury; "c'est moi qui fera cela pour
la dame!" Only guess Kitty's escape! Another moment and he would have
been in her presence, warming-pan and all. By dint of remonstrating I
checked his course and prevailed upon the Maid to go herself with vast
ill humour, innumerable shrugs, and some few "Mon Dieu's" and other
suitable expressions. Kitty must herself be the interpreter of her own
feelings in these lands of novelty. I am almost glad you were, none of
you, here to witness what she will have such pleasure in describing. Our
morning passed away in strolling over the town. Kitty and I dined at the
table d'hôte with about 20 people. Farmer Dinmont sent for a bottle of
the best wine to try it and offered me a glass. I begged to propose a
toast, "Prosperity to Old England." His features brightened up, he
grasped the bottle, filled a bumper, and replied, "Aye, aye, with all my
heart; that Toast I would drink in ditch water." We left Ostend at 3
o'clock to take passage in the Bruges canal, and I do assure you we all
felt quite sorry to leave our dear, good, honest John Bull.

At Saas we fell in with a specimen of Lord Wellington's operations.
There is a formidable battery erected last year by way of guarding
Ostend from a "coup de main"; it is singular that the English have
placed a Battery for the defence close to the celebrated sluice gates of
this canal, which gates were blown up by Sir Evelyn Coote to prevent the
French from inundating the country, when he invaded it some years
before.

Behold us seated in a spacious room, for it does not deserve the
diminutive name of "Cabin," decorated with hangings of green cloth and
gold border, on board a most commodious barge. Behold us on a lovely
evening starting from the Quay with full sail and 3 horses, a man
mounted on one and cracking a great long whip to drive on the other two,
which trotted away abreast at the rate of 4-1/2 miles an hour. Behold us
seated on this easy chair of Neptune! our ears deafened and our spirits
enlivened by a band of music--trumpet, violin, and bass--admirably
playing Waltzes and other national tunes. When they had amused us on
deck they went below to another class of auditors. Our fellow traveller,
Mr. Trueman, followed them, and perceiving him to be English they struck
up "God save the King." A Frenchman called out "Ba, ba," a very
expressive mode of communicating disapprobation, but seeing Trueman was
of a different opinion, he ceased from his "Ba, ba," and stepping
towards him made him a low bow. About 6 o'clock we arrived at Bruges, or
rather to the wharf from whence passengers betake themselves and
portmanteaux to barrows and sledges. As we approached our Band resumed
their musical exertions. A crowd assembled to welcome our arrival, Gigs,
coaches (such coaches!!), Horsemen (such Horsemen!!), were parading.
Such a light with such a rainbow shone upon such an avenue and such
picturesque gate!! Our baggage filled a car drawn by 3 stout men; and we
all followed in the rear.... Bruges is a town affording five or six
volumes of sketches; towers, roofs, gable ends, bridges--all in
succession called for exclusive admiration. It was decided that we
should rise at 4, breakfast at 6, and see all that was possible before
9, when we were to continue our route to Ghent. At 3 o'clock I was
prepared, but a steady rain forced me reluctantly to bed again, but we
did breakfast at 6, and did pick up two or three sketches.

_Mrs. E. Stanley to Lady Maria J. Stanley._

BRUSSELS, _June 18, 1816_.

[Illustration: FRENCH CABRIOLET.

_To face p. 260._]

On the 18th of June, how can I begin with any other subject than
Waterloo?... At 8 this morning we mounted our Cabriolets for Waterloo.
Donald put on his Waterloo medal for the first time, and a French shirt
he got in the spoils, and a cravat of an officer who was killed, and I
wrapped myself in his Waterloo cloak, and we all felt the additional
sensation which the anniversary of the day produced on everybody. It
brought the comparison of the past and present day more perfectly home.
Donald was ready with his recollections every minute of the day, what
had been his occupation or his feeling. The forest of Soignies is a fine
approach to the field of battle--dark, damp, and melancholy. If you had
heard nothing about it, you could hardly help feeling, in passing
through it, that you would not like to cross it alone. There are no fine
trees, but the extent and depth of wood gives it all the effect of a
fine one, and an effect particularly suited to the associations
connected with it. The road--a narrow pavement in the middle with black
mud on each side--looks as if it had never felt a ray of sun, and from
its state to-day gave me a good idea of what it must have been.
Sometimes the road is raised thro' a deep hollow, and it was not
possible to look down without shuddering at the idea of the horses and
carriages and men which had been overturned one upon another; in some
parts the trees are _à la_ Ralph Leycester, and you see the dark black
of shade of the distant wood through them; but in other parts it is so
choked with brushwood and inequalities of ground, that you could not see
two yards before you, and no gorge was ever so good a cover for foxes as
this for all evil-disposed persons. At Waterloo we stopped to see the
Church, or rather the monuments in it, put up by the different regiments
over their fallen officers. They are all badly designed and executed but
one Latin one--not half so good as the epitaph on Lord Anglesey's leg
which the man had buried with the utmost veneration in his garden and
planted a tree over it; and he shows as a relic almost as precious as a
Catholic bit of bone or blood, the blood upon a chair in the room when
the leg was cut off, which he had promised my lord "_de ne jamais
effacer_".

At Mont St. Jean Donald began to know where he was. Here he found the
well where he had got some water for his horse; here the green pond he
had fixed upon as the last resource for his troop; here the cottage
where he had slept on the 17th; here the breach he had made in the hedge
for his horses to get into the field to bivouac; here the spot where he
had fired the first gun; here the hole in which he sat for the surgeon
to dress his wound. He had never been on the field since the day of the
battle, and his interest in seeing it again and discovering every spot
under its altered circumstances was fully as great as ours.

After all that John Scott[109] or Walter Scott or anybody can describe
or even draw, how much more clear and satisfactory is the conception
which one single glance over the reality gives you in an instant, than
any you can form from the best and most elaborate description that can
be given! To see it in perfection would be to have an officer of every
regiment to give you an account just of everything he saw and did on the
particular spot where he was stationed.

Donald scarcely knew as much as Edward did or as the people about of
what passed anywhere but just at his own station. But at every place it
was sufficient to ask the inhabitants where they were and what they
saw, to obtain interesting information.

[Illustration: Hougoumont ... June 18th

_To face p. 263._]

Every plan I have seen makes it much too irregular, rough ground; it is
all undulating, smooth ups and downs, so gradual that you must look some
time before you discover all the irregularity there is. Hougoumont[110]
is the only interesting point, and that by having an air of peace and
retirement about it most opposite to what took place in it.

It is a respectable, picturesque farmhouse, with pretty trees and sweet
fields all around it; the ravages are not repaired and many of the trees
cut down. We left our carriages in the road and walked all over the
British position, and henceforward I shall have a clearer idea, not only
of Waterloo, but of what a military position and military plan is like.

At La Belle Alliance we sat upon a bench where Lord Wellington and
Blücher perhaps met, and drank to their healths in Vin de Bordeaux. In
spite of the corn, there are still bits of leather caps and bullets and
bones scattered about in the fields, and you are pestered with children
innumerable with relics of all sorts. We had heard magnificent accounts
on our road here of all that was to be done on the field, balls, fêtes,
sham fights, processions, and I do not know what, but they have all
dwindled to a dinner given here to the Belgian soldiers and a Mass to be
said for the souls of the dead to-morrow. However, we saw what we
wished as we wished, and the impression is perhaps clearer than if it
had been disturbed and mixed with other sights.

And now, being near 12, and I having walked about 8 miles, and been up
since 6, must go to bed, though I feel neither sleepy nor tired.

_To Lucy Stanley._

_June 24, 1816._

...Away with me to Waterloo!

We arrived at Brussels on the evening of the 17th, and at seven o'clock
started for the scene of action. From Brussels a paved road, with a
carriage track on each side, passes for nine miles to the village of
Waterloo.

The Forest (of Soignies) is, without exception, one of the most
cut-throat-looking spots I ever beheld, ... and for some days after the
battle deserters and stragglers, chiefly Prussians, took up their abode
in this appropriate place, and sallying forth, robbed, plundered, and
often shot those who were unfortunate enough to travel alone or in small
defenceless parties.

After traversing this gloomy avenue for about four miles, the first
symptoms of war met our eyes in the shape of a dead horse, whose ribs
glared like a cheval-de-frise from a tumulus of mud. If the ghosts of
the dead haunt these sepulchral groves, we must have passed through an
army of spirits, as our driver, who had visited the scene three days
after the battle, described the last four miles as a continued pavement
of men and horses dying and dead.

[Illustration: Interior of Hugomont June 18, 1816.

_To face p. 265._]

At length a dome appears at the termination of the avenue. It is the
church of Waterloo. They were preparing for a mass and procession, and
the houses were most of them adorned with festoons of flowers or
branches of trees....

...We turned to the right down the Nivelle road, for it was there
Donald's gun was placed, and some labourers who were ploughing on the
spot brought us some iron shot and fragments of shell which they had
just turned up. The hedges were still tolerably sprinkled with bits of
cartridge-paper, and remnants of hats, caps, straps, and shoes were
discernible all over the plains. Hougoumont was a heap of ruins, for it
had taken fire during the action, and presented a very perfect idea of
the fracas which had taken place that day year. How different now! A
large flock of sheep, with their shepherd, were browsing at the gate,
and the larks were singing over its ruins on one of the sweetest days we
could have chosen for the visit. As I was taking a sketch in a quiet
corner I heard a vociferation so loud, so vehement, and so varied, that
I really thought two or three people were quarrelling close to me. In a
moment the vociferator (for it was but one) appeared at my elbow with an
explosion of French oaths and gesticulations equal to any discharge of
grape-shot on the day of attack. "Comment, Monsieur," said I, "What is
the matter?" "Oh, les coquins! les sacrés coquins" and away he went,
abusing the coquins in so ambiguous a style that I doubted whether his
wrath was venting against Napoleon or against his opponents. "Oui,"
remarked I, "ils sont coquins; et Buonaparte, que pensez-vous de lui?"
This was a sort of opening which I trusted would bring him to the point
without a previous committal of myself. It certainly did bring him to
the point, for he gave a bounce and a jump and his tongue came out, and
his mouth foamed, and his eyes rolled, as with a jerk he ejaculated,
"Napoleon! qu'est-ce que je pense de lui?" It was well for poor Napoleon
that he was quiet and comfortable in St. Helena, for had he been at
Hougoumont, I am perfectly convinced that my communicant would have sent
him to moulder with his brethren in arms. Having vented his rage, I
asked him if the French had ever got within the walls. "Yes," he said,
"three times; but they were always repulsed"; he assured me he had been
there during the attack and that he saw them within; but added, "How
they came in at that door" (pointing to the gate by which we were
standing and which was drilled with bullets), "or when they came in, or
how or where they got out I cannot tell you, for what with the noise,
and the fire, and the smoke, I scarcely knew where I was myself."

[Illustration: LA BELLE ALLIANCE.

_To face p. 267._]

One of the farm servants begged me to observe the chapel, which he
hinted had been indebted to a miracle for its safety, and certainly as a
good Catholic he had a fair foundation for his belief, as the flames
had merely burnt about a yard of the floor, having been checked, as he
conceived, by the presence of the crucifix suspended over the door,
which had received no other injury than the loss of part of its feet. He
had remained there till morning, when, seeing the French advance and
guessing their drift, he contrived to make good his escape, but returned
the following day. What he then saw you may guess when I tell you that
at the very door I stood upon a mound composed of earth and ashes upon
which 800 bodies had been burnt. Every tree bore marks of death, and
every ditch was one continued grave.

From Hougoumont we walked to La Belle Alliance,[111] crossing the
neutral ground between the armies; a few days ago a couple of gold
watches had been found, and I daresay many a similar treasure yet
remains. At La Belle Alliance, a squalid farm house, we rested to take
some refreshment. For a few biscuits and a bottle of common wine the
woman asked us five francs, which being paid, I followed her into the
house. Not perceiving me at the door, she met her husband, and bursting
into a loud laugh, with a fly-up of arms and legs (for nothing in this
country is done without gesticulation), she exclaimed, "Only think! ces
gens-là m'ont donné cinq francs." In this miserable pot-house did the
possessor find 280 wounded wretches jammed together and weltering in
blood when he returned on Monday morning. If I proceed to more
particulars I foresee I should fill folios.

I must carry you at once to La Haye Sainte.[112] It was along a hedge
that the severest work took place; it made me shudder to think that upon
a space of fifty square yards 4,000 bodies were found dead. The ditches
and the field formed one great grave. The earth told in very visible
terms what occasioned its elasticity; upon forcing a stick down and
turning up a clod, human bodies in an offensive state of decay
immediately presented themselves. I found four Belgian peasants
commenting upon one figure which was scarcely interred, and on walking
under the outer wall of La Haye Sainte a hole was tenanted by myriads of
maggots feasting upon a corpse.

Here stands the Wellington tree,[113] peppered with shot and stripped as
high as a man can jump of its twigs and leaves, for every passenger
jumps up for a relic. We stood upon the road where Buonaparte (defended
by high banks) sent on, but _didn't_ lead, 6,000 of his old Imperial
Guard. They charged along the road up to La Haye Sainte, dwindling as
they went by the incessant fire of 80 pieces of Artillery, many of them
within a few yards, till their number did not exceed 300. Then Napoleon
turned round to Bertrand, lifted his hand, cried out, "C'est tout perdu,
c'est tout fini," and galloped off with La Corte and Bertrand,[114]
quitting most probably for ever a field of battle.

A continued sheet of corn or fallowed fields occupy the whole plain. The
crops are indifferent and the reason assigned is curious. The whole
being trampled down last year, became the food of mice, which in
consequence repaired thither from all quarters and increased and
multiplied to such a degree that the soil is quite infested by them.

Upon the heights where the British squares received the shock of the
French Cavalry, we found an English officer's cocked hat, much injured
apparently by a cannon shot, with its oilskin rotting away, and showing
by its texture, shape, and quality that it had been manufactured by a
fashionable hatter, and most probably graced the wearer's head in Bond
Street and St. James's. Wherever we went we were surrounded by boys and
beggars offering Eagles from Frenchmen's helmets, cockades, pistols,
swords, cuirasses, and other fragments.

At Brussels they gave the Belgian troops a dinner in a long, shady
avenue, which was more than they deserved, and in the evening the Town
was illuminated. In the Newspaper I daresay there will be a splendid
account of it, but it was a wretched display in the proportion of one
tallow candle to 50 windows stuck up to glimmer and go out without the
slightest taste or regularity.

From Brussels we started in a nice open Barouche Landau on Thursday, the
20th. We again crossed the Field of Waterloo and proceeded towards
Genappes, a road along which we jogged merrily and peaceably, but which
had last year on this same day been one continued scene of carnage and
confusion: Prussians cutting off French heads, arms and legs by
hundreds; Englishmen in the rear going in chase, cheering the Prussians
and urging them in pursuit; the French, exhausted with fatigue and
vexation, making off in all directions with the utmost speed.

At Genappes we changed horses in the very courtyard where Napoleon's
carriage was taken ... and were shown the spot where the Brunswick
Hussars cut down the French General as a retaliation for the life of the
Duke. The Postmaster told us what he could, which was not much; the only
curious part was that in his narrative he never called the Highland
Regiments "Les Écossais," but "Les Sans Culottes." The setting sun found
us all covered with dust, rather tired and very hungry, and driving up,
with some misgivings from what we had heard and from what we saw, to our
Inn at Charleroi. "This is an abominable-looking house," said Donald.
"Oh, jump out before we drive in and ask what we can get to eat." "Well,
Donald, what success?" we all cried like young birds upon the return of
the old one to the gaping, craving mouths in their nest. "The Landlady
says she has nothing at all in the house, but if you will come in thinks
something may be killed which will suffice for supper." This was a bad
prospect....

[Illustration: WATERLOO.

_To face p. 270._]

We three went on in quest of better accommodation, and drove first to
enquire at the Post House. The first question the Postmaster asked was,
What could induce us to come to a place from which there was no exit? We
told him we wished to go to Maubeuge. Had you seen his shoulders elevate
themselves above his ears. "To Maubeuge! Why, it is utterly impossible."
"Well, then," we said, "to Mons." "Le chemin est éxecrable." "To
Phillippe ville." "Encore plus mauvais." As a proof of which he told us
that a government courier had two days before insisted upon being
forwarded thither, that they had sent him off at 2 in the morning, to
insure him time before daylight, that at 9 in the morning he was brought
back, having proceeded with the utmost difficulty 2 leagues, and then
being deposited in a rut by the fracture of his carriage. After a great
deal of pro and con it was agreed that with more horses and great
caution and stock of patience the road to Mons should be attempted, and
we were directed to "Le Grand Monarque," a good name for these times,
applicable to Buonaparte or Louis XVIII.

It was worth while to lose our way and encounter these unexpected
difficulties for the amusement the landlady afforded us. We seemed
almost at the end of the world. I am sure we felt so, for the people
were so odd. Dinner she promised, and in half an hour proved by a
procession of half a dozen capital dishes how wonderfully these people
understand the art of cookery, in a place which in England would be
considered upon a par with the "Eagle and Child."[115] We asked her
about the road in hopes of hearing a more satisfactory account. With a
nod and a shrug, and an enlargement of the mouth and projection of lip,
she replied, "Messieurs, je ne voudrais pas être un oiseau de mauvais
augure, mais, pour les chemins il faut avouer qu'ils sont effroyables."

I will venture to say such a "oiseau" as our speaker has never before
been seen or heard of by any naturalist or ornithologist. Her figure and
cloak were both inimitable. She gave such a tragi-comic account of her
sufferings last year, during the time of the retreat, and in 1814 when
the Russians were there, that while she laughed with one eye and cried
with the other, we were almost inclined to do the same. She had been
pillaged by a French officer in a manner which surpassed any idea we
could have formed of French oppression and barbarity. At one time the
Cossacks caught her, and on some dispute about a horse, 4 of them took
her each by an arm and leg and laying her upon her "Ventre" flat as a
pancake, a fifth cracked his knout (whip) most fearfully over her head,
and prepared himself to apply the said whip upon our poor landlady. By
good fortune an officer rescued her from their clutches, but she
shivered like a jelly when she described her feelings in her awkward
position, like a boat upon the shore bottom upwards. Then she told us
how her husband died of fright, or something very near it. Her account
of him was capital, "Il étoit," said she, "un bon papa du temps passé,"
by which perhaps you may imagine she was young and handsome. She was
very old and as ugly as Hecate.

Well, my sheet is at an end, and my hand quite knocked up. We did get to
Mons, but the roads were "effroyable." At one moment (luckily we were
not in it) the carriage stuck in the mud and paused. "Shall I go? or
shall I not go?" Luckily it preferred the latter, and returned to its
position on 4 wheels instead of 2.

E. STANLEY.

_Mrs. E. Stanley to Lady Maria Stanley._

And now to return to what pleased me first: Bruges--where I first felt
myself completely out of England. The buildings were so entirely unlike
any I have seen before that I could have fancied myself rather walking
amongst pictures than houses. The winding streets are so interesting
when you do not know what new sight a new turn will present; especially
when, as in this case, the new sight was so satisfactory every time.
Ghent is a much finer town but not near so picturesque; but we were
fortunate in falling in here with a fine Catholic procession. We went to
the top of the Cathedral, and as we were coming down the great bell
tolled and announced the procession had begun. We almost broke our necks
in our hurry to get a peep, and we did arrive at a loop-hole in time to
see the whole mass of priests and procession in slow motion down the
great aisle and to hear their chant. It was very fine indeed, tho' to
our heretical feelings the interest lies as much in the romantic
associations connected with all the Roman Catholic ceremonies as in
anything better. It is not in human nature not to feel more devotion in
the imposing solemnity of such a church. The "Descents from the Cross"
were just put up, and with the organ playing and mass going on, and the
number of female figures with their black scarfs over their heads
kneeling on chairs in different parts of the Cathedral, we saw them to
greater advantage than surrounded by French bonnets and other pictures
in the Louvre. They are quite different to any Rubens I ever saw before;
the colouring so much deeper and the figures so superior.

But no one should be allowed to enter that Cathedral without the black
scarf, which makes a young face look pretty and an old one picturesque;
and there were several common people gazing at the picture with as much
admiration and adoration painted on their faces as there probably was
on ours.

[Illustration: _Church of St. Nicholas, Ghent June 16, 1816._

_To face p. 274._]

At Brussels there were more pictures from the Louvre, but the Brutes had
packed up the Rubens without any covering or precaution whatever, and
there they are with a hole thro' one, and the other covered with mildew
and stains from rain and dirt. From Ghent we travelled in two cabriolets
to Brussels, which were not quite so easy or pleasant as the Canal
boats; but the accommodations as far as Brussels have been really
_superbe_. I have longed for the papers or the carpets or the marble
tables in every room we have been in; and I have learned to consider
dinner as a matter of great curiosity and importance, and I cannot
wonder that Englishmen are not proof against the temptations of living
well and so cheap. Brussels is a nice place; there appear to be so many
pleasant walks and rides in all directions. The country about is so
pretty, and the town (with the exception of the steep hill which you
must ascend to get to the best part of it) very cheerful and agreeable
looking.... Every place swarms with English; we have met four times as
many English carriages and travellers as we did on our road to London.

Our weather has been very favourable. We had a cool day for walking
about at Waterloo, and the next day a delightful bright sunshine to show
off the Palace of Laeken to advantage. It is the place where Bonaparte
intended to sleep on the 18th, and he fitted it up. It is three miles
from Brussels, commanding a view of the whole country and surrounded by
trees and pleasure-grounds in the English style. After looking at
buildings and towns so much, it was an agreeable relief to admire shady
walks and fine trees. We went to the Theatre, which was execrable, but
at Ghent we were very much amused with some incomparable acting.

We left Brussels yesterday morning in a Barouche and _three_, which is
to take us to Paris. It holds us four in the inside and John on the box
as nicely as we could wish and is perfectly easy. We suit each other as
well in other respects as in the carriage. Donald is an excellent
_compagnon de voyage_--full of liveliness, good humour, and curiosity,
enjoying everything in the right way. He and Edward Leycester are my
beaux, while E.S. does the business; which makes it much pleasanter to
me than if I had only one gentleman with me. In short, we had not a
difficulty till yesterday. We came by Waterloo again and picked up
Lacoite to get what we could from him, and then to Charleroi, being told
the road by Nivelles was impassable. The road to Charleroi was bad, and
we did not arrive till 9, having had no eatable but biscuit and wine.
Donald entered the hotel to enquire what we could have for dinner, and
returned with the melancholy report that the woman had literally
nothing, and did not know where any were to be procured, but that she
would kill a hen and dress it if we liked! We sent Donald and Edward, as
a forlorn hope, to see if there was another inn, and after a long
search they found one, whereupon the postillion found out that he had
no drag-chain and could not properly descend the _montagne._ However,
after some arguments, and my descent from the carriage, and Donald and
John walking on each side the wheels with large stones ready to place
before them in case they were disposed to run too fast, we arrived at
the Inn at the foot of the Hill, from which issued an old woman who
might have sat for Gil Blas' or Caleb Williams' old woman. When she
heard where we were going, she shook her head and said she did not like
to be _un oiseau de mauvais augure_ but that the only road we could go
was very nearly impassable. The people and the children in the street
crowded round the carriage as if they had never seen one before, and, in
short, we found that we had got into a _cul-de-sac._

[Illustration: PORTE DE HALLE, BRUSSELS, LEADING TO WATERLOO.

_To face page 278._]

However, our adventures for the night finished by the old woman giving
us so good a dinner and so many good stories of herself and the
Cossacks, that we did not regret having been round, especially now when
we are safely landed at Valenciennes without either carriage or bones
broke--over certainly the very worst road I ever saw.

We shall be at Paris on Monday or Tuesday, I think. Adieu.

_Rev. E. Stanley to his niece, Rianette Stanley._

...Before leaving Brussels for ever, it is impossible not to speak about
the dogs. What would you say, what would you think, and how would you
laugh at some of these wondrous equipages. You meet them in all
directions carrying every species of load. They were only surpassed by
one vehicle we met on the road drawn by nine, and as luck would have it,
just as we passed, the five leaders fell to fighting and ran their
carriage over some high stones. Then the women within began to scream
and the driver without began to whip, which caused an inevitable scene
of bustle and perplexity....

At Quiverain we passed the line of separation between France and Belgium
and were subjected to a close inspection by the Custom House Officers,
during which some Bandana handkerchiefs of Edward's were for a time in
great jeopardy, but they were finally returned and "nous voilà" in "la
belle France." The change was perceptible in more ways than one. Before
we had travelled a mile we beheld a proof of this subjugated state in
the person of a Cossack "en plein costume," with two narrow, horizontal
eyes placed at the top of his forehead, bespeaking his Tartar origin.
Upon a log of timber twenty more were sitting smoking. The Russian
headquarters are at Maubeuge, but the Cossacks are scattered all over
the frontier villages and are seen everywhere. We fell in with at least
a hundred. They are very quiet and much liked by the people. The Duke of
Wellington, when returning to Valenciennes a few days ago from Maubeuge,
was escorted by a party of these gipsy guards.

On approaching Valenciennes other tokens of conquest appeared. A
clean-looking inn, with a smart garden in Islington style, presented
itself, bearing a sign with an English name containing the additional
intelligence that London Porter and Rum, Gin, and Brandy were all there,
and to be had.

Over many a window we saw a good John Bull board with "Spirituous
Liquors Sold Here" inscribed thereon in broad British characters, unlike
the "Spiritual Lickers" in the miserable letters upon the signboards at
Ostend. As to Valenciennes, nothing was French but the houses and Inns.
The visible population were red-coated soldiers, and it was impossible
not to fancy that our journey was a dream, and that we had in fact
re-opened our eyes in England.

Of hornworks, demi-lunes, and ravelines I shall speak to your Papa when
I fight my battle once again in the Armchair at the Park or at
Winnington; enough for you to know that we all breakfasted with Sir
Thomas Brisbane, a very superior man and a great astronomer, and tho'
brave as a lion, seems to prefer looking at la Pleine lune in the
heavens than the host of demi-lunes with which he is surrounded in his
present quarters. At Cambray Sir George Scovell[116] had most kindly
secured us lodgings at Sir Lowry Cole's[117] house, which we had all to
ourselves, as the General was in England. Where the French people live
it is not easy to guess, for all the best houses are taken by British
Officers. They receive a billet which entitles them to certain rooms,
and generally they induce the possessor to decamp altogether by giving
him a small rent for the remainder. We found Colonel Egerton, who
married a Miss Tomkinson, in the garrison. We dined with them and the
Scovell, and were received with the utmost kindness and attention by
all. Colonel Prince and Colonel Abercromby (you know both, I believe)
also dined there two days we remained.

On Sunday there was a Procession. The most curious circumstance was that
a troop of British cavalry attended to clear the way and do the honours,
for the National Guard had been disarmed three days before in
consequence of an order from the Duke of Wellington (nobody knows why).
They gave up their arms without a murmur; some few, I believe, expressed
by a "Bah!" and a shrug of the shoulders that it was not quite agreeable
to their feelings, but "voilà tout." "I say, Jack," said a Grenadier of
the Guards to his Companion, by whom I was standing as the procession
came out of the Church, "who is that fellow with a gold coat and
gridiron?" "Why, that's St. Lawrence," and so it was.

St. Lawrence led the way, followed by a brass St. Andrew as stiff as a
poker and as much resembling St. Andrew as I conceive; but my companion
the Grenadier thought differently, for he pronounced him to be a Chef
d'œuvre. "Well now, Jack, that's quite natural." ...

I must hurry you on to Compiègne, merely saying that we traversed a
country fringed with immense forests in which wolves are born and live
and die without much interruption, tho' we were told at one of the Inns
that a peasant had, a day or two before, captured seven juvenile
individuals of the species and carried them off uneaten by their
disconsolate parents.

Our chief reason for visiting Compiègne was that we might see a Palace
fitted up for Marie Louise by Bonaparte in a style of splendour
surpassing, in my opinion, any Palace I have seen in France.

_Mrs. E. Stanley to Lady Maria J. Stanley._

PARIS, _June 28, 1816_.

And here I am--and what shall I tell you first? And how shall I find