ters from Hollybridge, of which I cannot disappoint myself. Meanwhile he has done me good service by a private hint to Mademoiselle V. to spare her rhapsodies tomorrow, as we traverse the plain of Waterloo.. Such subjects are sacred to me! The heroic death of my father has been so deeply and painfully the subject of my contemplations, that I cannot trust myself to visit the details of a field of battle. Thoulouse and the forest of Soignies lie far apart; but there are certain technical words and phrases inseparable from each, which have acquired a terrible importance in my ears. The event, which at so early an age deprived me of both my parents, can never lose its importance. Of Waterloo, therefore, not a word! Liege. Two charming days on the banks of the Meuse have rendered me almost " Ennuyée"-ish; and I have even consented to overlook the sin of a sonnet perpetrated on the occasion by the Vinicombe. Well might Napoleon prize the possession of these beautiful prov. inces, his tenacity of which broke off the preliminaries of the peace of Châtillon, his last chance of salvation. I was reminded of my own Staffordshire, and its silver Trent, of Colebrook Dale and the Severn; but forced to render homage to the superior beauty of the Meuse, which the Vinicombe apostrophizes as the younger and fairer, but less noble, sister of the Rhine. My prejudices are strong in favour of la cadette; I admire her comely, thriving, prosperous face. The Meuse resembles the throbbing artery of an active kingdom. All around it is industry and movement; and hard indeed must have been the exactions of King William, to have excited against a roi industriel the abhorrence of his industy-loving Belgian subjects. As the originator of their most thriving speculations, the memory of the Dutch prince will, however, survive among their grandchildren when the new dynasty shall, after the fashion of all dynasties, have taken its turn of unpopularity. The Vinicombe insisted on visiting the old palace of the Prince Archbishop of Liege, for the purpose of inflicting “Quentin Durward" upon us, and Clarence has accordingly assigned her the sobriquet of "The Bore of Ardennes." Why did I not accept the companion so strongly recommended for me to Armine, by Lady Hartston? There was something in the sound of "an officer's widow" which gave me the impression of weeds, a memorial, and a thousand other dispiriting associations. I fancied Lady Hartston's protégée must be too prosy and rational. And now-I am 66 sprighted with a foolsprighted and angered worse!” Spa. What a cool, tranquil little valley, to have been polluted into a fashionable watering-place, a stage of folly for the antics of the beau monde of universal Europe. How strange, this evening, after our secluded drive and the rural sublimities of the Meuse, to fall suddenly upon a fashionable cavalcade of the Goslings and De Rawdons; their high-mettled steeds of Hyde Park and Epsom exchanged for ponies of the Ardennes ! "Oh! fashion ill inhabited worse than Jove in a thatched house." Notwithstanding their protestations of having found Spa delightful, I am convinced they have been bored to extinction-the face of joy with which Lord Hampton and Sir Jervis Hall recognised my carriage and welcomed Clarence Delaval, satisfied me that they were as glad of the sight of new faces, as if they had been performing quarantine. Such is usually the case at watering-places. People flatter themselves they have been mightily amused by including in their own experience all the legendary entertainments of preceding years; and come away, saying to all the world, as was said by all the world before them, that Leamington, Wiesbaden, or Carlsbad is the most delightful place on earth; after having daily whispered to themselves during the séjour, that last season may have been pleasant enough, but that in the present one they have been unfortunate-" uncertain weather,' -" certain persons forcing themselves into society," &c., &c. Quant à moi, I am glad I am come so late, I am glad I am going so soon: for, though the environs promise many a pastoral stroll and ride, the Rhine season is too far advanced to admit of loitering. The Gosling set, it seems, have established an exclusive English table d'hôte at Spa, of which the device appears to be "Nul n'aura du Salmis, and the general company, including Russians, Germans, French, and Belgians, of the highest rank, feel themselves exceedingly ill used. The Goslingites pretend, on one hand, that people are free to form what conventions they please, in the hotel they occupy; the foreigners contend, on the other, that, by a proceeding so arrogant and so contrary to the spirit which dictates the customs of all foreign bathing-places, they have declared war against the community. All this is very English; I shall be glad when we have seen the last of May Fair and its fooleries. How provoking!-Lord Hampton and the De Rawdons set off for the Rhine on the same day with ourselves; and, without a positive act of ungraciousness, I cannot negative their proposal that we should form a single party. Now, of all injudicious arrangements, one which tends to quarter a caravan of fastidious English people in an inferior continental inn, is the most absurd. We must not even venture to pause, unless where the accommodation is first rate; so adieu my hopes of smiling villages and rustic hamlets. When shall I ever become really mistress of my actions! The Vinicombe, meanwhile, is enchanted! Two men of fashion and a languishing ladyship fully counterbalance the probable evil of an insufficiency of beds and post horses. I fancy she would offer to sleep with Lady Maria's poodle, rather than lose the accession to our party. Clarence wishes to remain here a few days longer with the Goslings, and is to rejoin me at Ems. I am persuaded his only object is to get rid of the De Rawdons. Bonn.-Where is the beautiful Rhine-the picturesque Rhine-the river of lays and legends-odes, novels, and romances? As far as we have proceeded, the New River, or the Eanbrink Canal, would form quite as fair a mark for poetry; and, except the companions of my journey, never did I meet with anything less interesting than its objects! I admit, however, that I am fairly ill with fretting. The letters I received at Spa afforded a climax to my vexations. Herbert and his wife take no pains to conceal their dissatisfaction at my sudden expedition; and, like the voices which attacked Princess Parizade on her mountain, call upon me loudly to return. They pretend that the palladium of my happiness exists in England, and that I am running after new misfortunes. Unluckily I do not and cannot defy augury; and Armine's adjurations have strongly affected my mind. Here, on the wide Continent, I feel the want of a friend. Clarence is too young to obtain my confidence, the Vinicombe a mere girouette; and as to that worldliest of worldly women whom my little cousin calls "la femme au masque de fer," Lady Maria de Rawdon, I should as soon dream of pouring my secret into the Lion's Mouth of Venice as into her ear. By-the-way, it strikes me as singular that the Herberts so pointedly avoid all allusion to Hartston Abbey and its inhabitants? They give me a long uninteresting message from stupid Lady Tarrington, but not a word of the Hartstons. How dispiriting is this chilly autumn weather; and how much more am I inclined for a quiet fireside than for sightseeking with a set of listless, supercilious companions! Such an outcry after shawls, cloaks, boas, dressing boxes, and Mademoiselle Angélique, as was raised by Lady Maria de Rawdon the moment we arrived at Aix-la-Chapelle; such exclamations of horror at the lugubriousness of the vast tapestry-hung_apartments provided for us at the hotel of the Black Eagle! It was in vain the courier assured her they had been occupied by Prince Metternich during the congress. Miss Vinicombe was close at the ear of Eve with pedantic protestations that they had been more likely occupied by Anne of Cleves, when painted by Holbein as the bride of Henry VIII. Nothing but the necessity for an immediate toilet previous to setting forth, as she would have done at Cheltenham or Bath, to visit "the rooms" and springs, could pacify her fastidious ladyship; while I, whose head was running upon Charlemagne and his Paladius, apprehended only that the romantic Wilhelmina might propose to bear me company to the cathedral and Stadt Haus, instead of devoting herself to fashion and the De Rawdons. But I might have spared my fears. Miss Vinicombe readily accepted Lady Maria's invitation to Burscheid; and I should have perhaps enjoyed the satisfaction of performing my pilgrimage alone, had not Lord Hampton expressed himself curious to have a look into the "rum old church." "And pray who the devil was 'CAROLO MAGNO?"" inquired his lordship of the valet-de-place, when we reached the centre of the nave and stood beside that celebrated grave which even Napoleon is said to have contemplated with awe. "Charles the Great? Oh! ah! yes!-I recollect-Robertson's Charles V." The patriarch of chivalry seemed to hold no place in Lord Hampton's memory, or he might, perhaps, (who knows?) have apostrophized him as Lucien Bonaparte's Charlemagne. At the Hotel de Ville, erected on the foundations of the palace in which the Emperor of Romance beheld the light, we were shown a picture commemorating the first congress of Aix-la-Chapelle, and containing portraits of the diplomats assembled to parcel out Europe into new kingdoms. 66 Voilà," said the valet-de-place, “le portrait du réprésentant d'Angleterre." "Et qui donc ?" "Le Chevalier Robinson." "Crusoe-no doubt," was Lord Hampton's facetious rejoinder. "Et qui, diable, nous a représenté au second?" Monseigneur le Duc de Vilainton, Electeur d'Angleterre," replied the man, not facetiously, but in sober earnest. And he drew us away from the congress chamber to exhibit a monument, now alas! historical-the studio in which Sir Thomas Lawrence painted his fine portraits for the gallery of our prince regent. "So you have been rubbish-hunting in the old church; what on earth did you find there to amuse you?" inquired Captain De Rawdon, when at the close of the day we met over a most Germanic dinner of chevreuil, with stewed apricots, pancakes, and carpes du Rhin. "All sorts of things," was Lord Hampton's comprehensive reply. "In the first place, a pair of bronze doors, through the lions' noses of which, Satan, in proper person, is said to have thrust his fingers-the doors being much finer, by-the-way, than the grille which our friend Stanhope bought for Elvaston. Then, Charlymain's hunting horn-a deused sight cleverer than Goosey's or Dufresne's cornet-à-piston. The old sacristan refused, however, to show us the chemise of the Virgin Mary, and a whole lot of other relics, without an order from the King of Prussia, or the Archbishop of Amsterdam, or Heaven above knows who." "The chemise of the Virgin! No doubt of stout Irish linen ?" "Can't say. I only know that it is eight feet long; and that in former times, two hundred thousand pilgrims a day used to come and do it homage." |