CHAPTER II.

TO DINANT.

BRUSSELS looked very bright and sparkling when we reached it at about five o'clock on a glowing afternoon in August. In London we had left dull, gloomy weather, but when we reached Dover we found sunshine, and our passage across in the delightful Calais-Douvres was an enjoyment instead of an endurance. The sunshine grew brighter as we went on, and when we reached Brussels, the gay, well-kept little city was bathed in afternoon brilliance. By the time we had dined at the comfortable Hotel de Suéde this glow had faded— when we went out to look at the town the lamps were being lighted. Brussels was very empty-there were a few English tourists, but it was evidently vacation time; every one had gone to the country or the sea-side, so that we could gaze our fill into the charming shop windows in the Galerie St. Hubert and the Montagne de la Cour without being jostled by passers-by. It soon

grew dark, and the shops shut early in this quarter of Brussels. The massive towers of Saint Gudule loomed out in solid darkness as we passed, and the splendid Hotel de Ville looked more picturesque than everperhaps, however, its most interesting aspect was early next morning, when the Place in front sparkled and glowed with a profusion of brilliant blossoms in the flower market. The contrast was perfect between the ancient dark building and the fresh summer beauty below.

The journey from Brussels to Namur is not remarkable. At La Hulpe we were told that we ought to see the Lion Mound at Waterloo, but we did not see it. However, the approach to Namur, and the first view of the town and citadel, are very striking. We were much amused by our fellow-travellers, two little Belgian girls and their mother. They had all heavy Flemish faces, and the legs of the little girls, amply displayed by their short white embroidered frocks, were a sight to see. They had each wreaths and books, and they told us the distribution of prizes had taken place that morning. They were going home to Dinant to spend their holidays. One of them was rather pretty, and though only eight years old, she recited from beginning to end a French play in which she had acted a part that morning.

Namur is a bright, pretty little town, with a most

excellent Inn, Hotel de Harschamps. The view from the citadel over the Meuse is very fine, and there may be more to see in the town than we discovered there, but we were anxious to get on to Dinant and then to the Ardennes.

A steamer runs in summer-time three times a day between Namur and Dinant; it takes longer than the railway journey, but on a fine day is very preferable, and it is never tedious, there is so much to admire 'in the constant beauty and change of the scenery. Limestone cliffs on either side rise to a considerable height; they are frequently wooded to the top; and in some places we saw hop-gardens on their steep sides, but often the bare gray crag projects itself in varied and fantastic forms, with tufts of grass and wild flowers niched in the crevices of stone.

The cliffs do not always tower loftily on each side of the lovely gray-green river, though sometimes they frown at one another closely, and when a sudden bend comes we are enclosed in a rocky valley from which there seems to be no outlet. All at once the scene widens, the cliffs on one side or other change into sloping banks, green and gold some way off, with cultivated tracts of corn and meadow land, and nestling close to the brink of the river is first one pretty village and then another.

There are several of these villages, and the constant windings of the Meuse keep up a succession of pictures and also a keen interest as to the sort of landscape which lies beyond the point ahead of us. There were plenty of passengers-some tradespeople, others working men-going to Dinant, or landing at the little villages: we had an old farmer and his wife, with their calf, about which they seemed most solicitous. It behaved much better than a little Christian in boy's clothes did, who wandered about in a reckless fashion and kept us in constant expectation that he would fall overboard.

The railway crosses the river at Yvoir, the cliffs are very high and the ruined castle of Poilvache frowns down from the top of them. There is a landing-place at the little village of Houx, just below the ruined castle. The cliff on which Poilvache stands seems to overhang the little village; at its base it recedes in the form of a narrow crescent, so that there is just room for a few vine-covered cottages, a gray school-house, the little church round which the houses cluster, and the château at the farther end. In front of all is the village green, and this slopes down to the river, and is dotted with. a few brown cows feeding. We saw no sheep, but as we passed we saw a whole flock of goats leaving the fresh grass beside the water, to clamber up the bare rocks

behind the village for the scanty herbage peeping here and there in the clefts of gray crag. The little village could not be bigger if it would there is only just room for the road to pass at either end between the steep cliff and the Meuse.

It made a charming picture of rustic leisure. A few

men loitered on the landing-place, smoking, and we saw women knitting at the doors of the vine-covered cottages. The rocks looked exquisite here. The conformation of the limestone causes wonderful effects of light and shade as we went on between the lofty cliffs, sometimes green, but oftener thrusting rugged gray shoulders through the scanty grass and wild