CHAPTER IV.

_16th._ Marched through a country very similar to that of yesterday--that is, flat rich soil, highly cultivated, very populous, and diversified with patches of wood, &c.--to Eccloo (_chêf lieu du canton_), a neat little village consisting of two broad streets forming a sort of place at the point of union, where we parked our guns, despite the objections of the inhabitants, who were woefully afraid of an explosion. The Duke of Wellington, _en route_ to Ostend, passed as we were forming up, and scrutinised us pretty closely, but said nothing, although I afterwards learned that it was positively against orders to park ammunition of any kind in a village.

The landlord of the only auberge was so very insolent that we formed a mess for the day in one of our billets, our own servants cooking for us. The fare was not sumptuous, but, _en revanche_, very cheap, consisting entirely of our rations. My own billet here was in the house of a widow, who kept a hardware shop--humble, but, as usual in this country, a pattern of cleanliness. Returning from the mess, I joined the old lady and her daughter in their little parlour behind the shop, and two or three neighbours coming in, the conversation became animated. The subject was the return of Napoleon and the probable consequences. According to their ideas, our cause was hopeless. Last year our hostess had lodged an officer of Cossacks, whom she described as a most gentlemanly man.

_17th._ The same description of country accompanied us to Ghent. At the large village of Lovendeghem the road joined the canal; and here we obtained the first view of this celebrated city, the birthplace of Charles V., and the scene of so many interesting events in the history of the middle ages, forming, with its numerous towers, a fine termination to the long vista of the canal.

Nearer the coast the trees had been small and somewhat stunted; indeed, most of the woods we had seen were merely coppice. Here, however, they assumed a different character, being of large size and great luxuriance, giving a much higher interest to the landscape as they bordered the fine meadows lying along either side of the canal, on the bank of which our road lay. The scenery now became further enriched and enlivened by the frequent occurrence of country-seats, generally of brick, and embowered in foliage; a lawn stretching down to the canal, and terminated by a terrace with a low parapet-wall and a summer-house at one end of it. The only boat, however, we met, was the packet going to Bruges; and the road itself was so solitary that, had not our eyes convinced us to the contrary, we should never have imagined ourselves approaching so rich and populous a city.

About two P.M. we reached the canal harbour, separated from the city by a handsome _barrière_ (_grille_) or iron railing in imitation of spears, the shafts painted light blue, with gilded blades. A small building, with the word “_Octroi_” in large letters over the door, stood on one side of the gate by which we now entered the capital of Flanders, and immediately found ourselves in a fine broad street, with large and stately houses on either side. Yet the very first impression was that of disappointment. The street was lonely, almost deserted, and nearly every second house exhibited a board bearing a notice in French and Flemish that it was to sell or let--“Maison à louer,” “Huys zu heuer,” or “Maison à vendre,” &c. &c. Curious it is that two languages should be indispensably necessary; but such seems to be the case here, for I observed that all proclamations and public notices of any kind were invariably in French and Flemish. We proceeded some way through the same sort of quiet and (apparently) depopulated region; but at last, crossing a broad canal, or, may be, one of the several rivers which here unite, we came at once into the very heart of bustle, business, fine shops, and crowds of people, continuing on nearly a mile, through all which we at last reached the cavalry barracks (our destination), quite at the further extremity of the town, near the Barrière de Bruxelles, where we parked our guns and put up our horses; but there was no room for the men, consequently they were billeted.[4] Nothing could be more inconvenient than this arrangement, though I believe it could not be helped, the place being already crowded with troops, English and French--for this was the headquarters of Louis XVIII.’s phantom of an army. Upon ascertaining the situation of our billets, too, we found things still worse, these being generally in the Quartier de Bruge, a distance of nearly one and a half miles from the barrack, and some still farther off--one detachment being billeted at La Barqué, a cabaret on the canal harbour, and another at some village still farther off. A serious inconvenience this for horse-soldiers, whose duties required them to be so continually at the barrack, and most harassing when it is recollected that the distance from barrier to barrier is reckoned three miles--the whole distance over an execrable pavement. It was not without some trouble that I succeeded in finding my own billet in Bruge Straet, a respectable house, but nowise remarkable either for size or architecture. My host, a stout cheerful-looking old gentleman, whose bearing and dress bespoke the opulent citizen, met me in the gateway, and with great cordiality (recognising my billet) ushered me into a large room by the side of the brick-paved entry, announcing it as mine during my stay, at the same time offering me the use of his whole establishment, particularly of his cook. This last I accepted with pleasure, having arranged with my officers that our mess should be in my quarter, wherever that might be. Meantime, my baggage-cart having been drawn up the narrow yard and the horses dismissed, the great gates reclosed, and the bustle of arrival subsided, everything sank into silence--a silence as predominating in the street without as within the house.

My apartment was a large, lofty, long room, running back from the street, towards which two high windows admitted such insufficient light that even in fine weather it was particularly gloomy. At the farther end two folding-doors cut off a portion of its length, and this was fitted up as a bed-chamber--dark enough. The furniture of the _salle_ consisted of a few common chairs and a large table covered with oil-cloth. The floor was without carpet, as the windows were without either blinds or curtains. How the rest of the house might have been fitted up I am ignorant, having seen no more of its interior than the kitchen, which opened into the yard, and that was certainly the neatest and cleanest I ever saw, with its red floor and red stoves and highly-polished brass pans, &c. &c. Nor did I ever see much more of the inhabitants; for, with the exception of two females in the kitchen, the house seemed deserted. A man-servant certainly assisted at our dinner, but we rarely saw even him at any other time. Not a voice--not a foot-fall--not a sound of any kind, unless emanating from ourselves, ever disturbed the death-like silence that reigned through this establishment. Mine host was, I believe, a merchant, and went out every morning to his business, whence he returned not until the evening, at least as far as I could ascertain. I saw nothing more of him from my first reception until I called to take leave and thank him for his attentions and hospitality. These consisted in the assistance of his servants and the use of his beer-cask, on which we drew for our daily supply.

During the seven days we remained in Ghent, our time was so occupied by duties that there was little leisure to look about us. Twice every day it was necessary to be at the barracks, so that a very great portion of my time was spent in walking backward and forward between them and Bruge Straet.

Amongst other duties it fell to our lot to furnish a guard of honour to Louis XVIII., then residing in Ghent, his own troops having been sent to Alost to make room for the British, which were continually passing through. Our subalterns were very well pleased with this arrangement, for the duty was nothing. They found an excellent table, and passed their time very agreeably with the young men of the _garde du corps_, some of whom were always in attendance. Many of these were mere boys, and the anteroom of his most Christian Majesty frequently exhibited bolstering matches and other amusements, savouring strongly of the boarding-school; however, they were good-natured, and always most attentive to the comforts of the officer on guard. The royal stud was in the barrack stables, and consisted principally of grey horses, eighteen or twenty of which had been purchased in England at a sale of _cast horses_ from the Scots Greys.

We frequently met French officers of all ranks, and formed acquaintance with many gentlemanly, well-informed men. At the Lion d’Or and Hôtel de Flandre we found there was a table-d’hôte every night at 8 o’clock, and, by way of passing the evening, usually resorted to one or the other for supper. Here we were sure of meeting many Frenchmen, and as the same people were generally constant attendants, we became intimate, and discussed the merits of our national troops respectively over our wine or _ponche_. It was the first time most of them had had an opportunity of inspecting British troops closely, though many had often met them in the field; and they were very curious in their inquiries into the organisation, government, and equipment of our army. Although allowing all due credit to the bravery displayed by our troops in the Peninsula, and the talents of our General (the Duke), yet were they unanimous in their belief that neither would avail in the approaching conflict, and that we must succumb before their idol and his grand army; for though these gentlemen had deserted Napoleon to follow the fortunes of Louis XVIII., it was evident they still revered the former. Their admiration of our troops, particularly of the cavalry, was very great; but they expressed astonishment at seeing so few decorations. It was in vain we asserted that medals were rarely given in the British army, and then only to commanding officers, &c. They shook their heads, appeared incredulous, and asked, “Where are the troops that fought in Spain?” There might have been something more than mere curiosity in all this. There might have been an anxiety to ascertain whether their countrymen were about to cope with veterans or young soldiers. It might have been thrown out as a lure, to provoke information relative to the present employment of those veteran bands. Moreover, I shrewdly suspected many of these gentlemen were actually spies. Amongst others who had followed Louis XVIII. was Marmont. I think it was the day after our arrival, passing over the open space near the Place d’Armes, by the river, I saw a French general officer exercising a horse in the _manège_, and learnt with astonishment that this was Marmont; for the man in question had _two_ good arms--whereas, for years past, I had, in common with most people in England, looked upon it as a fact that he had left one at Salamanca. French deserters, both officers and privates, were daily coming in; it was said they deserted by hundreds. Be that as it may, I one day saw a column of thirty march up to the Bureau des Logements. They were in a most miserable plight--all in rags--and apparently half-starved. All these deserters, as well as the rest, were forwarded without delay to Alost. The Commissaire des Logements told me that, after the departure of the French troops to Alost, there still remained more than 300 of his Majesty’s immediate followers for whom it was necessary to provide in Ghent.

The huzzars of the K. G. Legion, stationed about Detto, and toward the frontier, frequently sent intelligence of hostile movements; but except this, we were in perfect ignorance of the positions either of our own or the French army. Regiments arrived from England, halted a night, and were off again we knew not where.

Meantime we lived well, and saw as much of the place as our scanty time would permit. The markets were most abundantly supplied with everything, and very cheap; so that with the assistance of our _bourgmestre’s_ cook we kept an excellent table at a moderate rate. As for our horses, although they had exhibited symptoms of having felt their exposure on the sands at Ostend when we first arrived, yet rest and good forage soon restored their original appearance, and we began to get tired of Ghent and long for a forward move.

I cannot, however, bid adieu to Ghent without recording a few notes, which my confined means of observation enabled me to preserve; and be it remembered that, at that period, the continent of Europe was almost a _terra incognita_ to Englishmen, to whom everything, therefore, even trifles, bore a degree of interest, which our present intimate acquaintance may cause to appear puerile at the present day.

I need not say that Ghent is a large and populous city, standing upon ground generally flat, intersected and divided into numerous islands by three or four rivers, besides canals, which hold their course through it, nor that it is the birthplace of the Emperor Charles V.; but I may add that Ghent, independent of its historical recollections, is, and ever must be, a most interesting place, particularly to the artist; for where can we see such picturesque street-scenes as are exhibited here? The streets, bordered by lofty houses generally of a quaint style of architecture, wind their devious way--now narrow, now spreading out to an ample breadth--with an irregularity that certainly leaves no room to complain of sameness. This irregularity attaches as much to the houses as to the streets. These are of every variety--high stepped gables towards the street, little turrets with pointed roofs, others with large French windows, and, again, others all window, as at Bruges. These, intermingled with, and partially seen through, the foliage of the trees, which in many places border the canals, &c., offer most picturesque morsels, precisely such as one sees in the pictures of the old Flemish painters, so that they appeared quite familiar. This effect is considerably heightened by the deep embrasures of the windows, lofty grotesquely ornamented portals, and, above all, the rich deep tone of colouring that pervaded the whole. Chapels and churches, too--some in the Gothic, others Italian, or still more modern styles--intervened continually, the whole forming rich perspectives, animated by the varied and bustling crowds of citizens, peasants, soldiers, &c. One peculiarity struck me as savouring much of indolence and curiosity combined: almost every house, at one or more windows of the first floor, had small square mirrors, sometimes single, sometimes double, so arranged that persons seated within the room could see the passengers on the _trottoir_ below without stirring from their seats. In English towns one constantly sees heads peeping over the blinds; here, no one is seen at the windows.

Near the centre of the city is the Place d’Armes, a large square, having the area ornamented by rows of well-grown linden trees, and its houses of a superior character to those in the adjoining quarters. This is the focus of business, and in this neighbourhood one sees all the best shops, some of which astonished us by the profuse display of Indian goods, particularly silk pocket-handkerchiefs, which we found of the very finest quality, and at about half the price they sold at in England. The Place d’Armes is, however, spoiled in a great measure by the shabby wooden railing enclosing the promenade.

In this square was a magnificent hotel, at least as far as outward appearance went. The Duc de Berri had his quarters in it; and one day, as I returned from the barrack, I saw him set off for Alost. This was the first travelling equipage I had seen in the country; and consequently I was much amused with the coxcombry and costume of the postilions--their glazed hats stuck on one side; queues, each with the side-hair neatly plaited in; short, very short jackets; and, above all, the enormous jack-boots. But if the costume amused, the dexterity with which they handled their whips astonished me--“klang-klang-klang,”--between them they almost made music. The rapid and dexterous manner in which, flourishing their whips over their heads, they crack them--before, behind, right, and left--is of a piece with that manual dexterity with which our laboratory-boys make ball-cartridges, and our drummers, by quickly-repeated but distinct taps, produce a rolling sound in which the most delicate ear cannot detect a break. But to return from this digression.

The very little time I had to myself did not admit of seeing half the place, and my wanderings were pretty much confined to the neighbourhood of the line between Bruges Straet and the barrack. Sometimes, however, I did extend a little to the right and left, and in one of these excursions got a glimpse, but no more, of some pleasant gardens--public, I suppose--in which numerous walks, overarched with verdure, intersected each other, and presented, as the weather was hot, most inviting retreats. At another time I wandered as far as the Citadel,--I suppose the one built by William III. of England, not that of Charles V., of which not a vestige remains. It must have been but an insignificant work;--the plan, I think, a parallelogram. The mounds of the ramparts remain entire, and the wet ditch. At present it is completely overlooked by the neighbouring houses. From this work, which is situated just without the _barrière_ of the road to Thermonde, one commands a prospect, perhaps, of its kind unrivalled. Here are no picturesque or romantic features, but the eye wanders unimpeded over a region as flat as the ocean, and, like it, only terminating in the distant horizon. This region is amongst the richest in the world, and, spite of its flatness, offers to our view a scene at once pleasing and astonishing. Verdant meadows, enameled with myriads of yellow and white flowers, amidst which graze innumerable herds of the finest cattle, extend for miles from the city, and then, intermingled with corn-fields, groves, and thickets, amidst which are seen everywhere villages, farms, and scattered houses, melt gradually away into the blue distance. In the immediate foreground, a singular hillock, crowned by a little chapel and environed by trees, rears its form and enhances the picture by variety of feature and the interesting peeps admitted between the openings of the foliage. The road from Thermonde passes through this grove, and, covered as it generally is (or was, when I saw it) with groups of market-people, carts, and cattle, &c., throws a charming animation into the scene. The lengthened perspective, too, of this road running away in a straight line bordered by trees, and gradually diminishing until lost in the distance, breaks the unvaried flatness of the meadows, and prevents one feeling them monotonous. Returning from the Citadel, I joined the rustic crowd pouring in through the _barrière_, and, following the stream, was brought by it into an extensive square surrounded by lofty and antique-looking houses, apparently the exclusive abode of the humbler classes of merchants or artisans. The crowd here was immense; and it was not without difficulty that I made my way through it. I think this is the Marché aux Grains. Not far from thence I stumbled on the great gun, called the Basilisc,[5] said to have been cast by order of Charles V., to overawe the Ghentois. As far as I could see, this enormous piece, which reposes on a mass of brickwork in an open space at the turn of the street, is a plain unornamented cylinder of iron (wrought). It was too high for minute inspection. The pedestal upon which it rests serves also as a public fountain, about which are usually groups of gossiping women with their pitchers under their arms, or noisy boys.

Amongst the buildings of Ghent, interesting from their style, the ancient Gothic Hôtel de Ville stands pre-eminent, with its rich and elaborately-ornamented façades. This venerable pile is said to have been built, at least the older part of it, in the beginning of the seventh century. Another remnant of antiquity, perhaps still more old, I discovered in my own neighbourhood--this was the ancient castle, Castrum Ganda(?), a small open space, in the corner of which are the remains of thick walls and one tower still nearly entire--its different storeys affording lodgment to several poor families, from whom, however, I sought in vain for any information respecting these ruins. From the direction of the patches of wall, I conjectured that the open space was once the inner court of the castle.

In the same quarter was one of the markets, through which I passed every day in going to and coming from the barrack; it was for meat and vegetables, &c. The latter were exposed for sale in the open air in baskets, as with us; and here, as everywhere else, one could not but be struck with the great abundance and fine quality of every produce of this rich country. One vegetable seemingly in great request was the tender root of the hop plant. This, when peeled and stewed in milk, is really delicious. We had it every day on our table, and it was a general favourite. A principal occupation of the market-women was peeling these roots, which were then thrown into a basin of cold water to keep them fresh, and thus exposed for sale. The meat-market adjoining was under cover and closed in, like the central avenue of Covent Garden, forming a long street of stalls, each full of the finest meat imaginable, cut up into joints, &c., whilst overhead, suspended under the roof, were innumerable whole carcasses of bullocks, sheep, and pigs. Nothing could exceed the cleanliness of this place, or the neatness and propriety of dress of the butchers, their wives, and daughters. Unlike our markets, there was no loud talking, no confused gabbling of tongues; everything seemed conducted with the utmost quiet, order, and decency. The middle of the passage was thronged with well-dressed people of all classes and both sexes. On entering I was struck with a singular dull murmuring sound that pervaded the building, somewhat resembling the sound of a distant mill, which I soon perceived to be produced by the active industry of the women, who, instead of sitting idly waiting for custom, were all busily employed pounding sausage-meat. If ever I could relish a sausage it would be a Ghent one, for nothing can exceed the cleanliness of the operators and their operations, or the goodness of the materials of which they are made. One may form some idea of the abundance of this fine country from the fact that, having been all last year the seat of war, and now everywhere occupied by numerous foreign troops, still there appeared no diminution in the supplies, and the markets of every town exhibit as great a profusion as ever.

With the exception of a slight sandy eminence at Eccloo, the first undulations of the country we had yet seen were at Ghent. On the southern side of the town I ascended with pleasure a hill, which apparently was the commencement of a sort of rolling country extending towards Deynse. From its summit is an excellent view of the city and the fine country around it. Meadows of the liveliest green, intersected by numerous streams, exhibited everywhere immense quantities of linen exposed for bleaching--such was the scene immediately below. In the distance, as the plain became foreshortened, it seemed to be bounded by woods. The city itself was rendered a more pleasing object by having its sombre masses broken and relieved by large plots of garden-ground and the frequent intervention of foliage. On this hill stood a large square building, once a monastery, but suppressed during the Revolution, like many others. To what use it is now turned I could not guess, as not a living soul was to be seen in or about it of whom to make inquiry. The massive pile, with its numerous windows, high roof, and yawning portal, was not an unpicturesque object. I sauntered into its solitary court; grass had almost overgrown the pavement, and desolation was stamped on every feature. I could not look on all this without indulging in a dream, and in my mind’s eye embodying fat and lazy monks strolling about the court, or lounging in idle converse on the stone benches against the sunny wall; again, some more venerable figure passing the corridors in silent meditation. On the road from the town, too, I conjured up groups of ascending and descending brothers, and though not approving of their vocation, could not but regret the absence of their picturesque costume. The only convent I saw besides this in Ghent was an inhabited one, and it is to be hoped always will be. This is the Beguinage, to which I hardly know whether the term “convent” should be applied, for it rather resembles a small town. Each of the sisters has a separate dwelling, with a little flower-garden in front of it, much in the style of some of our better kind of alms-houses in England. It appears an old building, and is surrounded by a moat.

The Cathedral of St Bavon being in our neighbourhood, and not much out of the way of my daily walks, I frequently went in to see what was going on; for one goes to these Catholic ceremonies as to any other show. This church makes no great appearance from without, but the interior is imposing and beautiful, as all Gothic interiors are. The panels of the choir over the stalls are a series of paintings exceedingly well executed, representing the acts of St Paul, I believe. The curiosities of the church are the crypt, the tombs, and the pulpit. The former of these probably originated in the unsoundness of the ground rendering such a foundation necessary. Its arches are semicircular, and spring from low but very massive pillars. Mass is sometimes performed here, but only often enough, I should imagine, to prevent its desecration. Of the tombs, there are two of very admirable sculpture--the one in white, the other in black marble--both, I think, of bishops. The pulpit is like that of Bruges--an elaborate piece of carving in wood--notable monument of patience and perseverance. One evening, attracted by the chanting, I walked in, just as a procession wound slowly from behind the choir, and advanced with banners and lighted tapers down the side aisle. The approaching twilight had thrown every part of the church into a mysterious obscurity, harmonising well with such a scene. Two boys in scarlet surplices, with shaven heads, but beautiful faces, came first, swinging about large handsome censers of silver. The atmosphere was soon impregnated with the smoking frankincense, whose odour was well calculated to aid the imposing effect. Two banners, in form resembling the labarum, followed. To these succeeded a train of priests, in variously-coloured, rich, and picturesque dresses, some bearing other banners of different shapes and devices; and a number of boys, all habited like those already mentioned, and equally fair, flanked the procession, and enveloped it in a light haze by the fumes of their incessantly swinging censers. The chant had just died away as I entered the nave, and the procession, with solemn, silent tread, moved slowly down the aisle--the only sound that broke upon the ear being the grating rattle of the censer-lids as they were drawn rapidly up and down the chains. Then again the full impressive harmony of the chant filled the vaulted roof with its sweet and solemn notes, died away, and after another pause was again and again resumed; and thus, having made the circuit of the nave, the procession became gradually lost in the obscurity of the aisle as it slowly retired behind the choir, whence at intervals, softened by distance, the chant still rose over the dividing screen behind the high altar.

Puerile as these exhibitions may be, the effect on me was exciting; and as the last notes were faintly re-echoed through the building, I left it in a frame of mind far different from that in which I had entered.

On the Sunday we passed in Ghent a mass was celebrated expressly for Monsieur (le Comte d’Artois). Expecting something grand, I repaired to the cathedral in company with several other officers. We were received with great civility by the functionaries of the establishment, and provided with seats in the stalls and organ-loft. Our party formed the whole congregation, for there were none of the inhabitants. We had not been long seated ere a slight movement and the shuffling of feet in the direction of the grand entrance announced the approach of the illustrious communicant; and Monsieur entered the choir, followed at a little distance by the gentlemen of his suite: a small man of good figure, but of no very distinguished appearance. He was dressed in a blue uniform coat with silver embroidery, white breeches, and silk stockings. He advanced with a quick pace to the steps of the high altar, where a single chair had been placed for him, bowed very low, crossed himself most devoutly, bowed again, and, kneeling on the chair with his arms resting on the back, buried his face in his hands, and in this attitude remained throughout the ceremony. His suite, military and civil, ranged themselves across the choir behind him. A few found chairs, and knelt on them, but the greater part remained standing, and seemed little interested in the service. At length, to my great joy, the last taper was extinguished, and, tired to death, I made my escape, resolved never again to attend a royal mass.

With the interior of the houses in Ghent I had little acquaintance, having seen no more of them than the rooms inhabited by our own officers. In our Quartier de Bruges were many very large and even magnificent ones--some of them in the modern style, with French windows, of three or four stories, or occasionally only one, with a basement entirely blank; others, again, in the heavy antique Flemish style, with large windows in deep embrasures (perhaps with little panes of glass set in lead, and divided by heavy stone mullions)--those on the ground-floor defended by an iron cage, as in Spain; lofty folding-doors, full of iron studs, surmounted by a cumbrous, tasteless pediment, or an equally cumbrous escutcheon, looking gloomily magnificent. In all cases, however, the most scrupulous cleanliness and neatness were general characteristics; and as the street-doors usually stood wide open throughout the day, the eye of the passenger, as it glanced through the darkened perspective of the entrance-hall, was sure to be refreshed by the vivid verdure of vines and acacias decorating the interior court--a never-failing accompaniment, particularly to the older houses.

One of my officers, with whom I had established a breakfast mess, was billeted in a house (or rather palace) of the latter description in the Rue de Poivre (Pepper Straet). The rooms in this were of magnificent dimensions, wainscoted with some dark wood, the doorways and ceilings ornamented with arabesques. They were scrupulously clean, but very bare of furniture, the little there was (merely chairs and tables) clumsy and antique--folding-doors with their ornamented encasements reaching to the ceiling--neither door nor window frames painted. The whole house was as deserted and silent as I have described my own to be--gloomily obscure; but this, as the weather was hot, formed a recommendation, for it was deliciously cool. The only inhabitants ever seen either by my companion or myself were the lord of the mansion--a most precise, polite, frigid little sexagenarian, and an old domestic in cotton jacket and _bonnet de nuit_, who sometimes assisted Q.’s servant. The old gentleman was, however, most civil in going through the ceremony of offering everything his house afforded, but what that might be there were no means of ascertaining, for we never either saw or smelt his kitchen. The garden, an irregular area of no great dimensions, presented a grove of trees with thickets of underwood, threaded in all directions by narrow serpentine walks; and to prevent a sense of confinement, I suppose, the high boundary-wall was painted from top to bottom in distemper, with the representation of a distant country sky and all. The effect of this, in my opinion, was vastly inferior to that which would have been produced by covering it with vines or flowering creepers. Another of our people dwelt in a house of quite a different description--it was one of those already mentioned as having a blank basement, and giving but a single row of large French windows to the street. My friend’s apartments were truly luxurious. The walls were covered with French paper representing the scenery of some tropical region, the furniture (of which there was even a superfluity) all elegant; the large windows, adorned by ample draperies, looked out upon a lovely and luxuriant garden, and the light that entered through them was broken and tempered by festoons of vine leaves that hung across them, whilst the air came redolent of delicious odours from the ocean of flowers below, and the ear was entertained with the sweet warbling of birds suspended in pretty cages of brass wire in all parts of the house. The family consisted of several females--handsome, elegant, and simple in their dress; women--servants, scrupulously neat and clean, but not a man. These ladies must have been people of some consequence, if we may judge from the number and respectability of their visitors. The general aspect of the population of Ghent, as seen in the streets, &c., did not strike me as having anything very peculiar in it to attract the attention of a foreigner; the numbers, however, and to him novel appearance, of the secular clergy form a feature not to be omitted. An Englishman is totally unused to having the Church and its accessories so constantly in his presence as he here finds it. Both eyes and ears remind him perpetually of one and the other. The _carillons_, and the irregular unmeaning jingle-jangle of the bells from the numerous churches, continuing more or less throughout the day--the monotonous nasal chant issuing from every church one passes (and they constantly recur)--the occasional rencontre of some procession, and the number of priests to be seen everywhere in black cassocks and bands, with very small three-cornered cocked-hats stuck formally on their well-powdered heads--never allow one to forget Holy Mother Church as a leading member of the commonwealth. These priests all look sleek and in good case--they are evidently well fed; and it is amusing to see some of them (very young men) gliding along with downcast eyes (_vultus dejectu_) and demure steps, whilst ever and anon a stealthy sidelong glance announces that their thoughts are not entirely abstracted in devotional meditation--that they are not insensible to the excitement of the busy scene around them. To these maybe added the dowdy, homely figures of the Beguines in their inelegant black dresses, as inelegant and truly _bizarre_ caps of snow-white linen floating like enormous wings on either side of their heads. The remainder of the population, as I have said, offered nothing very striking in the way of costume, at least as far as regarded the higher classes. People everywhere now have adopted, it may be said, a common uniform. All the male world wear round hats, tail or frock coats of sober colours, and trousers. The rich old _bourgmestres_, for instance, are precisely what one would figure to himself a _bourgmestre_ to be--fat, portly, aldermanly men, often in cocked-hats and powdered wigs, a sober or sad-coloured suit of good broad-cloth, amply cut, breeches ditto, silver knee-buckles, white or striped silk stockings, clumsy, square-toed, but well-polished, high-quartered shoes, with enormous silver buckles--quite antiques; the finish, a handsome cane with golden knob, sometimes ruffles, figured silk waistcoats, &c. &c. The peasantry frequenting the markets differed from our people of the same class in the prevalence of short striped cotton jackets, caps, and _sabots_. Many of them, like our rustics, wore smock-frocks, much ornamented about the back, breast, and shoulders by embroidery in coloured worsteds; these frocks, however, are generally dark-blue. The street groups of the middle and lower classes were principally characterised by the frequency of short jackets, generally nankin or striped cotton, breeches of velveteen, with silver knee-buckles and striped stockings; cloth, nankin, or a sort of grey linen, foraging-caps of all shapes--some trimmed with wool or fur, generally having long pendant tassels from the top, and almost all having immense broad shades either of leather, or of the same material as the cap.

Of the manners of a people it would be presumption to speak on so short an acquaintance. The little intercourse we had with them, however, made a favourable impression on us. We found those of the upper classes obliging and polite; the tradesmen civil and attentive; the labouring classes quiet, orderly, and extremely respectful.

In point of religion, the men of the upper classes appeared indifferent or lukewarm, the women very assiduous in the performance of ceremonies, in which it was obvious the heart frequently had little concern. The lower orders were superstitious, priest-ridden, and extremely punctual in the performance of their duties. The peasantry alone seemed quite in earnest. I may characterise the whole population, high and low, as priest-ridden; for, however indifferent the men of the former may be, they are not a whit the less subservient to these their spiritual, and generally temporal, masters.

It would be unjust to condemn as immoral a whole people for the vices found in their cities. We ought not, therefore, to pass unqualified censure on the Flemings because this was exhibited to us openly in the streets of their great cities. I allude to the barefaced manner in which we were tormented incessantly by a number of boys making the most impudent and depraved propositions, and that with a pertinacity not readily repulsed. An instance of moral and religious degradation, I am happy to say, we rarely met with afterwards until our arrival at that hotbed of vice--Paris.

Our last transaction in Ghent was the taking over a number of baggage-mules from Captain Clive’s Brigade of the German Legion Artillery. These beautiful animals they had brought with them from Spain, and I shall never forget the grief and indignation with which they parted with them. Affection for, and care of, his horse, is the trait, _par excellence_, which distinguishes the German dragoon from the English. The former would sell everything to feed his horse; the latter would sell his horse itself for spirits, or the means of obtaining them. The one never thinks of himself until his horse is provided for; the other looks upon the animal as a curse and a source of perpetual drudgery to himself, and gives himself no concern about it when once away from under his officer’s eye. The German accustoms his horse to partake of his own fare. I remember a beautiful mare, belonging to a sergeant of the 3d Hussars, K.G.L., which would even eat onions. She was one of the very few that escaped after the disastrous retreat of Corunna, and had been saved and smuggled on board ship by the sergeant himself. In the Peninsula the only means of enforcing some attention to their horses amongst our English regiments was to make every man walk and carry his saddle-bags whose horse died or was ill.