FRANCE. 163, CHAPTER VIII. France-Walled Towns-Belgium-Brussels-Field of Waterloo-Genappe-Huy-Aix la Chapelle-Cologne-BonnPrussian Military and School Systems-Mayence-Valley of the Rhine-Frankfort on the Mayn--Darmstadt-Heidleberg --Offenberg-Villengen-Mode of building. CALAIS, AUGUST 22, 1833. The first things that made me feel I was in France, were the chattering of the boatmen who took us off from the steam packet, and "sacre!" rolling from the tongue of the vexed chief boatman, in the manner I have heard described, but could not well have conceived, without having heard the tone of the last syllable, actually thrilling on the tongue as it never does in the pronunciation of a foreigner. The next new and characteristic objects that presented themselves, as we went up the quay, were the fishwomen, or fishgirls rather-for they were all young-coming down with their small nets and net frames on their shoulders, looking as stout and resolute as men; bronzed with exposure to rain, and sun, and sea; their dress not coming down to the knee, and the calf below, round and full enough to move the envy of any "lean and slipper'd pantaloon." Calais, and most of the French towns of any note that we passed through on the way to Belgium, as St. Omer's, Lille, &c., are surrounded by two walls, with moats (now drained of their water) and drawbridges at the gates—which gates also are regularly shut every night. In some of the towns this is done at the inconveniently early hour of nine o'clock; and no one is suffered to pass afterward. Let the dwellers in our free, secure, unwalled, ungarrisoned cities think of it. You cannot take a ride into the country here but through these jealously guarded gates, surrounded with cannon, and infested by an idle, expensive soldiery. You cannot take a journey here, but you must have a passport, and be subjected to perpetual interruption and examination. For my part, I could not breathe freely in these prison cities. Wherever I went I should feel as if I walked in fetters, and wherever I abode as if I lived in an enemy's country. And yet such will be the state of things in our own country, if it is ever broken up into half a dozen petty republics. The change in passing from France to Belgium ROUTE TO BELGIUM. 165 at Baisieux, just before entering Tournay, is very striking, altogether in favour of Belgium as to neatness, comfortable appearance of living, and houses, though I thought there was rather a Flemish heaviness about the faces of the people, neater and more comfortable as they were. Everywhere on the route, but especially in Belgium, the women seemed to do as much, and hard, and various work as the men; they tramp about in wooden shoes, which adds a double appearance of heaviness to their movements, and almost of slavery to their condition. The country is very rich and well cultivated; but it impressed me with a strange feeling of melancholy all the while; for there seemed nothing in it but toil and its fruits; no intelligence apparently in the general countenance; no leisure, no agreeable-looking country houses, or cottages imbowered with trees; no gardens with people walking or sitting in them; no persons having the air of gentlemen or ladies riding or walking out as we entered, or left the villages and cities; and the cities and villages not wearing an inviting aspect-with close, narrow streetsirregular, old, obstinately fixed in stone against all improvement, and filled with men, women, and children, without one being of attractive appear ance among them-almost without one. The country on the route is remarkable for the long avenues of trees, (elm, poplar, beech,) all trimmed up so as to be very lofty, without any under branches. For many miles together the road is lined on both sides with them; and ranges of trees, forming squares, triangles, and groves of parallel rows, are seen everywhere. It is doubtless a bad taste carried to such an extent; and yet I think it might intermingle with that variety of English scenery, for which there is such a passion in that country. BRUSSELS is a beautiful city, and the beauty in some parts is in an ancient and striking fashion; as on the Grand Place, in which is the Hotel de Ville, or Town House, a fine Gothic building, with the highest tower, it is said, in Europe. The cathedral is very large; but the want of Gothic decorations within, and especially of the clustered column, instead of which is a great ugly round column, spoils the interior. The palace of the Prince of Orange is very splendid; beautiful floors of tesselated wood through the whole suite of apartments, rich marble walls, many fine paintings apparently-(one, portrait of a female, by Leonardo da Vinci, struck me much)-but we were not allowed to pause before them, being marched through the palace, a large company of us, in FIELD OF WATERLO0. 167 Indian file, after having moccasins slipped over our shoes, that the floors might not be injured. The park, on which are situated the palaces, and noble ranges of houses, is very fine; and the Boulevards--or rides and walks between rows of trees -surrounding the whole town, are such a charm and glory of a thing in its way, as is not, that I know, to be found anywhere else in the world. From Brussels, the ride to the field of Waterloo is through the wood of Soigny; a noble forest of beech trees, into which the golden beams of the setting sun streamed, like the light through stained windows into a Gothic temple. We arrived at the field of Waterloo, nine miles from Brussels, after sunset. We ascended the mound raised in commemoration of the great engagement of June 18th, 1815. It is two hundred feet high, and has a monument on the summit, consisting of a high pedestal, on which reposes the British lion, a colossal figure and finely executed. From this elevation, every point in the position of the armies and the field of battle, is easily comprehended. It is now a ploughed field, with nothing remarkable about it; but bare and naked as it is, of everything but the interest which the great action gives it, I would not but have seen it. We descended and passed through the very centre of |