lordship here? His father the old baron had dissipated the family
fortune, and here was this young nobleman, at about five-and-forty,
compelled to bestride a clattering Flemish stallion, and bump over dusty
pavements at the rate of five miles an hour. But see the beauty of high
blood: with what a calm grace the man of family accommodates himself to
fortune. Far from being cast down, his lordship met his fate like a man:
he swore and laughed the whole of the journey, and as we changed horses,
condescended to partake of half a pint of Louvain beer, to which the
farmer treated him--indeed the worthy rustic treated me to a glass too.

Much delight and instruction have I had in the course of the journey
from my guide, philosopher, and friend, the author of "Murray's
Handbook." He has gathered together, indeed, a store of information,
and must, to make his single volume, have gutted many hundreds of
guide-books. How the Continental ciceroni must hate him, whoever he is!
Every English party I saw had this infallible red book in their hands,
and gained a vast deal of historical and general information from it.
Thus I heard, in confidence, many remarkable anecdotes of Charles V.,
the Duke of Alva, Count Egmont, all of which I had before perceived,
with much satisfaction, not only in the "Handbook," but even in other
works.

The Laureate is among the English poets evidently the great favorite of
our guide: the choice does honor to his head and heart. A man must have
a very strong bent for poetry, indeed, who carries Southey's works in
his portmanteau, and quotes them in proper time and occasion. Of course
at Waterloo a spirit like our guide's cannot fail to be deeply moved,
and to turn to his favorite poet for sympathy. Hark how the laureated
bard sings about the tombstones at Waterloo:--