My dear Sister, Amsterdam, August 4, 1816. . . Our road to Antwerp took us through Mechlin which town first presented a specimen of what we afterwards met with in perfection, remarkable neatness and cleanliness, both of houses and streets. From the summit of the tower is a commanding view in every direction; for, immediately after leaving Brussels, you enter upon the level country, which continues all through Holland and Friesland in the strictest sense of the word. At Antwerp I again ascended the spire, which is one of the highest in the Netherlands. The view was most satisfactory and instructive. The whole of the Scheldt, as far as Flushing, the towns of Ghent, Bergen-op-zoom and Breda, with a multitude of populous towns and villages of inferior note, lie within the sphere of vision; I spent an hour there most agreeably. It is one of my strongest passions to learn the geography of a country by actual survey. Neither of my companions cared to mount, after the ascent at Mechlin, which is 556 steps. The sexton of the church amused me not a little. From the affinity of the Flemish to the English, we contrived to understand one another tolerably well, with the aid of a little French. He thought highly as you may suppose, of the prospect from his tower, continually repeating, as he looked round with an air of exultation, 'tout plat, tout plat, tout plat.' I asked him if he had ever seen a hill. He told me he had once at Brussels, but he evidently considered it a defect in nature. . . . This union, however, of Belgium with Holland, which now. together constitute the kingdom of the Netherlands, is unnatural and discordant in many respects. They differ in religion, in language, and in political interests. The Flemish are bigoted catholics-the Dutch, rigid Calvinists. The Flemish have almost all adopted the French language, and they are indignant at the exclusive use of Dutch in the acts of government. The Flemish are chiefly agricultural, the Dutch commercial; or, when the Flemish are commercial, they are rivals of the Dutch. In the Assembly of the States, the members speak, some French, some Dutch, and many do not understand what the others say. At Brussels I read a very ingenious and well-written dissertation by a Flemish advocate on the national language. It is clear that they are indignant at not being allowed to employ the French, as they have done time out of mind, in judicial proceedings, and other public acts. The Flemish language, I ought to add, is a much more uncouth dialect of the German than the Dutch is. This they allow themselves, and it is, consequently, a language neglected by all people of education, and is fast wearing out. Some of its tones are hideous. Charles II. said, if he had to speak to his horse he would speak in high Dutch. The Flemish appeared to me, as heard the common people talking to one another, to resemble in many of its tones that laborious effort which an ass makes towards the end of his braying. They are also in feature a coarse, ill-favoured people, and not over civil. Indeed, civility of manners seems to decline in proportion as one recedes from France. In Holland, however, the people are by no means so awkward and uncouth as I expected to find them. A Dutch peasant does not merely touch his hat he takes it off, and with a much better air than an English gentleman. In other respects-in dress, and feature, and manner-they are so like the English, that were it not for the flatness of the countenance, and the whimsical dress of the women, I should continually fancy myself in England. Among the women of the inferior class, the old costume is preserved; immense hats, as large as umbrellas, long-quartered shoes, with high heels, and buckles covering all the shoe to the very toe; flat plates of tin, or even silver, on the side of the head, with ornaments projecting from them extremely showy and rich, curled like a ram's horn, and, besides this, large heavy gold earrings. In North Holland, they have, moreover, a broad gold band across the forehead, over which, when in their Sunday dress, the hair falls down in small curious ringlets. My dear Sister, Aix-la-Chapelle, August 10, 1816. . . You cannot imagine how the sight of hills delighted us after leaving Holland. They begin at Louvain, the country round which town much resembles the neighbourhood of Oxford. As we advance eastward, the hills become bolder, till at length the vicinity of Liege exhibits as much picturesque beauty as Devonshire. Indeed, the country from Liege to Aix-la-Chapelle resembles Devonshire, and the enclosed parts of Somersetshire, in all its characters. And here, with a change of formation in the ground, is a corresponding change of culture and mode of life. The ground enclosed, the farms scattered, much upland pasture, with small woods and orchards, as in the vale of Honiton. But you are geologist enough to know that the cause of all this lies deeper. We have not only left the sand and the beds above the chalk, but we have passed the line of chalk itself (which is here scanty), and are come to the strata next below it--those, for instance, of which the hills near Honiton and Exeter are formed, with a great intermixture of red marl. All this shows itself in the shape of the hills and valleys, the grass, the mode of cultivation, and the manner of life. Soon we shall arrive, as we ascend along the Rhine, to strata still more primitive. Of course you know that, in geology, above means below! What was originally above, is now below, in consequence of the partial elevation of those lowest strata which form our highest mountains, and which, of course, lifted with them the intervening strata. Thus a river which, like the Rhine, takes its rise in the highest ridges, travels successively from one stratum to the other, till it arrives at that which is now lowest, but which, supposing no disturbance to have taken place, would be at the top. In our route, we are reversing the order which the river takes, and it is highly pleasing to observe, as we proceed, our anticipations verified. me. My dear Father, Mayence, August 16, 1816. The view of the Rhine at Cologne disappointed There is nothing picturesque in its character. It flows through an open well-cultivated country, the banks low, and cultivated to the very edge of the river. Its breadth, however, and the rapidity of its course, are striking. The mountainous country does not commence till near Bonn, which is a beautiful place. From Bonn to Bingen the banks are bold and picturesque in the highest degree. Above Bingen the country again becomes open, and without any striking feature. In this part of its course (i. e. from Bingen to near Bonn), at every reach you discover among the woods the ruins of some castle, frequently of more than one, crowning the summit of abrupt rocks, while the sloping sides down to the water are covered with vineyards. The variety of forms in these ruins, their different elevations, the various points of view in which they are seen as you approach and pass them, joined with the historical interest which such objects excite, render this the most enchanting line of scenery I ever beheld. The weather was fine, and the road which skirts the water-side pretty good. Madame de Staël has been laughed at for comparing the course of the Rhine to the life of an ancient hero. Perhaps the simile is a little too high-flown for prose, but there is something majestic and awful in the rapid but equable and silent flow of this noble river, and which gives you an idea of resistless force; judging from the passage of boats, I should think its course was at least five miles an hour. This force is so great, that it serves to set in motion, both at Cologne and at Coblentz, one of the most ingenious contrivances of man, a flying bridge. I doubt whether I shall be able to explain it. Two large barges are lashed together side by side, and a platform of considerable extent is formed, capable at Coblentz of transporting a thousand men. The heads of these barges are kept against the stream, and from the top of their mast a strong cable is extended, and fastened to a boat moored further up the stream, about the middle of the river. This boat, however, would be dragged with its anchor, if the force were not broken and divided by a series of boats at equal intervals, not anchored, but floating between the head-boat and the flying bridge below. They are fastened by a strong cable to each other, and the main cable from the bridge below passes through the middle of each of them up to the farthest, which is strongly anchored. By gently turning the helm, the rapidity of the current sends the barges (which are called the bridge) across the stream, because the sides are thus presented obliquely to it, and they cannot fall down the stream, being fastened by the cable to the boat anchored above. The passage being the third of a mile nearly, this operation presents a beautiful spectacle to a person placed on an eminence. We viewed it from the fortress of Ehrenbreitstein, opposite to Coblentz. This fortress was dismantled by the French after the peace of Amiens. It stands, or rather the ruins stand, upon a vast rock fronting Coblentz, which might be laid in ashes from it in a few hours. On the same side of the river, to my great surprise, we were shown a garden, laid out with the greatest taste and skill. It reminded me of Fordlands, and of parts of Mr. Merivale's ground, but the views from its walks and seats cannot, I fear, find a parallel in England. It belongs to a rich ecclesiastic, who has laid it out entirely himself within the last fifteen years. The gardener invited us into the house, where he has also |