foams over the masses of rock.

We pass a little vill

age, Sedoz, near which is the waterfall called La Chaudière, and then Nonceveux, where another small river falls into the Amblève through a dark cleft in the lofty hill. It is impossible, without repetition, to give an idea of the constant beauty and excitement of this drive. Each moment, from the winding course of the stream, there is some change, some fresh call on our admiration. Our drive had lasted more than eighteen. miles, counting in the four we had gone astray; and, though we were hungry, we were not at all tired of it.

Now we reached a broader, smoother road, still beside the river. There is a new and shorter road across the hill, with a fine view of Remouchamps in the distance, but our driver drove very fast along the lower one. We had more than once passed and been passed by a two-horse carriage, with a gentleman and two ladies inside, evidently Belgians; but this carriage, from the time we passed Nonceveux, kept in front, and drove at such a pace, that our horse went along, in sheer imitation, double as fast as he had gone through the journey. The gentleman kept on urging his driver to greater speed, looking back at us now and then; but as we had written beforehand to Madame Carpentier, the landlady, to order a room at the hotel, we did not

feel anxious about this precedence, only we regretted the rapid driving, as it disturbed full enjoyment of the scenery.

All at once, among the trees that clothe the opposite bank, rose the gray towers of an old château, built on the very edge of the steep wood-clothed rock, with a modern château built beside it. Below was the clear brown water, and beyond the narrow strip of green meadow which borders this near side of the Amblève is the charming village of Remouchamps.

The carriage in front of us had got considerably ahead, and when, turning a corner, we came in sight of the whitewashed vine-clad inn of Remouchamps, we saw the vehicle drawn up in front of the entrance, with only the two ladies inside. When we went up the steps into the little inn, a tall young woman with a very perplexed face was protesting to the gentleman that only one room had been ordered.

I went forward and asked if the room I had written for was ready, and at once the tall young woman's face cleared.

"Ah," she said, "it is Madame, then, who has written! I told this gentleman there must be some mistake, when he said he must have two rooms, and we have only one free."

The Belgian scowled darkly at me, and at once retreated; but if we had been five minutes later he would no doubt have taken possession of our room on false pretences, though it had been kept for us for two days. We watched him drive to the other inn, and we heard that, finding no room there, the poor creatures had to go on to Spa, another ten miles, to seek a lodging.

The tall young woman, who proved to be the landlady's eldest daughter, called to her aid two more tall young women, so like her that plainly they were her sisters, and bade them take our luggage upstairs. Then she showed us into a large airy bedroom with windows on two sides; and, as the house stands at an angle with the road, we thus got a double view of the Amblève. It was delightful to sit at the window and gaze at the view. At this point the road follows the

river, and runs between it and our inn. A little brook -really the same which disappears mysteriously at Adseux-flows through the grotto of Remouchamps and falls into the river just across the road; and there are two little plank bridges, one across the brook and another over the stony bank beyond, before one can reach the flat green strip of meadow that borders the Amblève. Sheep are feeding here, and on a little green island in the midst of the stream some brown

R

cows are grazing. The bank opposite is bordered by osiers, with white-stemmed birches and tall poplars here and there. The lovely river sweeps down to us in a broad curve, leaving shadow behind it beneath the steep hill. It comes sparkling over its stones, the water so transparent that we see them many-coloured in its bed. About a furlong off on the left, from among tall forest trees that here clothe the steep cliff, are the towers of the old château of Mont Jardin, the pointed black-capped roofs rising high above the trees.

As we look on this lovely scene, one of our host's neat daughters goes across the road with a bright carafe in each hand, to fill them from the brook, and the glass is as clouded when she comes back with them as though the water was iced. On our right is the village of Remouchamps, with its gray church at the farthest end-really in a sort of second village, called Sougnies. Behind the village, and extending on for some distance, is a wall of high hills, among which is the Heid des Gattes, a group of huge black rocks towering above the rest. The river, as it flows along with osier-crowned banks and small green islets gemming its sudden curves, is continuous in beauty.

There is a table d'hôte at the Hôtel des Étrangers, at one and at seven, but it is far more agreeable to