the Arc de Triomphe, but in Brussels, from the Gare du Nord to the
Palais de Justice--and what do you see? From end to end one unbroken
succession of noble and open prospects. I'm not thinking now of the
Grande Place in the old town, with its magnificent collection of
mediæval buildings; the Great Fire effectively deprived us of our one
sole chance of such an element of beauty in modern London. I confine
myself on purpose to the parts of Brussels which are purely recent, and
might have been imitated at a distance in London, if there had been any
public spirit or any public body in England to imitate them. (But
unhappily there was neither.) Recall to mind as you read the strikingly
handsome street view that greets you as you emerge from the Northern
Station down the great central Boulevards to the Gare du Midi--all built
within our own memory. Then think of the prospects that gradually unfold
themselves as you rise on the hill; the fine vista north towards Sainte
Marie de Schaarbeck; the beautiful Rue Royale, bounded by that charming
Parc; the unequalled stretch of the Rue de la Régence, starting from the
Place Royale with Godfrey of Bouillon, and ending with the imposing mass
of the Palais de Justice. It is to me a matter for mingled surprise and
humiliation that so many Englishmen can look year after year at that
glorious street--perhaps the finest in the world--and yet never think to
themselves, "Mightn't we faintly imitate some small part of this in our
wealthy, ugly, uncompromising London?"

I always say to Americans who come to Europe: "When you go to England,
don't see our towns, but see our country. Our country is something
unequalled in the world: while our towns!--well, anyway, keep away from
London!"

With the solitary and not very brilliant exception of the Embankment,
there isn't a street in London where one could take a stranger to admire