the heat of a very sultry day, prevented me from quitting the carriage to visit the holy fraternity and sisterhood, of whom, I was informed, very few members remain, and those far advanced in life. The revolution of France, and the progress of the French arms, have at least the merit of having prevented the immolation of many a lovely young creature, possessed of every personal and mental charm to gladden this checquered life of ours.

Thrice blessed they that master so their blood

To undergo such maiden pilgrimage:

But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd,

Than that, which withering on the virgin thorn,
Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness.

Midsummer Night's Dream, Act I. Scene 1.

The approach to these convents from the town is by a pleasant avenue of trees, their situation must be very agreeable, from the extensive prospect which they command. On our right the spires of the city of Cleves, on the French side of the Rhine appeared, and produced a very pleasing effect. Upon turning the base of the hill on which the monastic mansions stand, we entered upon a deep sandy road, and a very flat and uninteresting country, in which very few objects occurred to afford any gratification to the eye. The Rhine occasionally appeared, but not to much advantage: the majesty of its breadth is obscured by the great number of islands upon it in this

344

ANECDOTE OF FLINK.

stage of its descent. Flink, whom I have mentioned in describing the Stadthouse at Amsterdam, was born at Cleves in 1616. This able artist was destined, like our celebrated Garrick, for the bureau of a compting-house ; but his genius and passion for painting overcame all the impediments placed in their way by parental authority, and the persuasion of friends, and he renounced the prospect of accumulating immense riches by commerce, for the glory of the art. He made great progress under Rembrandt, whose style he imitated to perfection; he soon rose to distinguished reputation, and was employed to paint the portraits of princes and illustrious personages of the times in which he flourished; he died very young and much regretted.

After a tedious and unpleasant journey I reached Wesel, a large, gloomy, and very strongly fortified town as the gates had been closed at eight o'clock, and it struck eleven as I passed the last draw-bridge, it was with some difficulty and delay that I was admitted. Only persons travelling extra-post, and in the post-waggon, or diligence, are admitted after the gates are once shut. This place presents a disgusting contrast to the neatness and cleanliness of the towns in Holland. The moment I passed the gates, a most offensive mauvais odeur assailed my nose on all sides. There is only one tolerable inn in the whole

place, and that is generally very crowded. If the traveller cannot be accommodated there, he will be marched, as I was, to a pig-stye, or a house of ease to the former, where he may meditate at leisure on the sapient poetical advice of Shakespeare.

Cease to lament for what thou canst not help.

Here, according to a regulation which prevails in every part of Germany, I was annoyed by being presented with a printed paper, containing several columns, titled as follow:

All of which I duly answered in writing, except the last interrogatory but one, namely, "where are you going?" under which I peevishly wrote "to sleep," consolidated into one word, in large close letters. To an Englishman unaccustomed to such examinations, which after all are little more than formal, although every innkeeper by law is obliged to make such report of every traveller on his arrival, they are very liable to excite an inverted blessing upon the heads of those who trouble him in this manner.

Y Y

Wesel is an abominable dunghill, very strongly fortified. In the course of my perambulations through the town, the objects which I met with were infinitely more offensive to the sense of smelling than gratifying to that of seeing, and doubly disgusting from the contrast of exquisite cleanliness which the country I had just quitted, exhibited. This part of Westphalia is very flat, barren, sandy, and dreary, presenting little more than thin patches of buck wheat. The roads are very heavy, and with an exception to an oratory in a little grove, and three wooden effigies as large as life, representing the crucifixion, not one enlivening or interesting object presented itself. I mention the following travelling anecdote by way of caution to my reader should he select this route. At Dinslaken, one of the post towns between Wesel and Dusseldorf, the postmaster told me that two horses would not be sufficient in such roads for the carriage, and declared his determination, that, unless I took three, I should have none. If I had submitted to this imposition here, I must have done so throughout; I was therefore obliged to compound with this extortioner in office, by paying half of a third horse, which sum went into his pocket, and pursued my route with a couple, who conducted me in very good style to the next post town. In every part of Germany the post-masters are appointed by, and are under the controul of the reigning prince of Turn and Saxis, the here

ANECDOTE OF BROWN BREAD.

247

ditary director and post-master general of the roads in that part of Europe. My driver stopped to give his horses some wretched hard bread, used by the peasantry in Westphalia, composed of straw and oats, called bonpournikel from the following circumstance. Many years since a Frenchman, travelling in this country, called for bread for himself, and upon this sort being presented, he exclaimed, C'est bon pour Nickel (the name of his horse); upon which the old woman who had brought it in ran about the village in a great pet relating the story.

As I was proceeding by moon-light, a German gentleman who had travelled some way with me was observing, that throughout Westphalia a robbery upon the highway had not been known for many years, and that a traveller was safe in the night as in the day; and at the moment when he had just finished an animated eulogium upon the invincible honesty of the people, I happened to observe the shadow of a man behind the cabriolet, the head of which was raised, apparently very busy in endeavouring to cut our trunks, which, upon our jumping out, proved to be the case; the fellow was much alarmed by our appearance, fell upon his knees, and declared that he belonged to Dusseldorf, and poverty had prompted him to quit that city, and try his fortune on the highway. Nothing could exceed the indignation of the German the