many golden Cuyps as we passed by these quiet pastures.

Steam-engines and their accompaniments, blazing forges, gaunt
manufactories, with numberless windows and long black chimneys, of
course take away from the romance of the place but, as we whirled into
Brussels, even these engines had a fine appearance. Three or four of the
snorting, galloping monsters had just finished their journey, and there
was a quantity of flaming ashes lying under the brazen bellies of each
that looked properly lurid and demoniacal. The men at the station came
out with flaming torches--awful-looking fellows indeed! Presently the
different baggage was handed out, and in the very worst vehicle I ever
entered, and at the very slowest pace, we were borne to the "Hotel de
Suede," from which house of entertainment this letter is written.

We strolled into the town, but, though the night was excessively fine
and it was not yet eleven o'clock, the streets of the little capital
were deserted, and the handsome blazing cafes round about the theatres
contained no inmates. Ah, what a pretty sight is the Parisian Boulevard
on a night like this! how many pleasant hours has one passed in watching
the lights, and the hum, and the stir, and the laughter of those happy,
idle people! There was none of this gayety here; nor was there a person
to be found, except a skulking commissioner or two (whose real name
in French is that of a fish that is eaten with fennel-sauce), and who
offered to conduct us to certain curiosities in the town. What must we
English not have done, that in every town in Europe we are to be fixed
upon by scoundrels of this sort; and what a pretty reflection it is on
our country that such rascals find the means of living on us!


Early the next morning we walked through a number of streets in the