Phare, or bathed in the sea; but in January the
quay-side restaurants are shut, and none of the
other diversions are tempting.  Nothing suggests
itself but bed; so, mindful of old recollections,
I determine to go to the Hôtel d'Allemagne,
and, waving off touters, who, even at
this dead hour of the night and season of the
are vociferously to the fore, I stow myself
into a one-horse omnibus, and mention my
intended destination. The conductor of this
omnibus suggests to me a reconsideration of my
determination. That he should say anything
against the Hôtel d'Allemagne, far be it!  But
he knows a better; one which, if he may use an
English word, is bien comfortablement, one which
is close at hand, and where mademoiselle (the
other occupant of the omnibus) is about to
descend.  Will I not?  No, I won't! the
Hôtel d'Allemagne or nothing, and I pity mademoiselle,
who descends at a not very attractive-
looking porte cochère, as I think of Raymond
and Agnes, and Mr. Wilkie Collins's Terribly
Strange Bed, and many other unpleasant nights.
But arriving at the Hôtel d'Allemagne, we find
it fast closed, and all ringing and shouting are
powerless to wake the inhabitants, so, much
humiliated and crestfallen, I give in, and allow
myself to be reconveyed to the bien comfortablement.

It is warm at the bien comfortablement, which
is a great point on a bitter night; the stove
is alight, the moderator-lamp shines brightly
on the snowy tablecloth, and mademoiselle, who
was deposited by the omnibus on its first journey,
and who turns out to be a "young person in
service," is talking unaspirated English to a big
man, who came over in the fore-part of the
steamer, and who is drinking hot brandy-and-
water at a great rate. My hoarse friend, who has
given up the omnibus, here puts in a spectral
appearance at the door, and beseeches me to
go to bed, promising to call me in the morning;
so, dazed and tired, to bed I go, and as I
creep between the coarse sheets, and rebound on
the spring mattress, and see the foreign furniture,
and smell the foreign smell, and vainly endeavour
to cover myself with the foreign bedclothes,
I bethink me of the time when I was a
tall slip of a boy, eighteen years ago, and when,
on my way to a German university, I passed my
first night in foreign parts in this same city of
Ostend.  And so, lulled partly by these reflections,
partly by the monotonous crooning of the
voices of the young person in service, and the
brandy-drinker in the next room, I fall asleep.

"'Sieu! 'sieu! cinq heures et d'mi, m'sieu."
That recalled me to my senses, and I damped
myself with the napkin, and placed as much of
my nose and chin as it would contain into the
pie-dish, and dressed myself, and arrived in the
salon just as the breakfast I had ordered before
I went to bed, was brought in by the waiter.

Princes, fools, and Englishmen, travel in the
first-class carriages, says the German proverb:
I know I am not a prince, but I am an Englishman,
therefore one need not enter upon the
other question, I think, as I take my first-class
ticket.  I am travelling "on the public service"
now, so I ride in the first-class; on previous
occasions I hare ridden in the fourth-class, with
fishwomen carrying strong-smelling baskets of
Ostend produce, into the inland regions, and
blue-bloused peasants in large-peaked caps, with
all of whom I have held converse in the Flemish
language—which I did not understand, but in
which I made excellent progress by speaking a
mixture of English and German with a Dutch
accent.  Now I sit in the first-class.  I am
certain there are no other Englishmen in the
train, and I suppose there are no princes, and no
fools, at such an early hour, for I am solitary and
silent.  On past Jabbeke and Bloemendael,
jolly little neighbouring villages; on, through the
flat well-cultivated Belgian country; on, past
those dreary old châteaux, with the gabled roofs,
standing far back, and looking so grim and
desolate; on, past the white-faced little towns,
through the high street of which our train tears,
giving us passing glimpses of close-capped
children screaming at the wooden bar which
prevents them from hurling themselves on
the line; on, until with a whistle and a shriek,
we dash into Ghent, and pull up steaming
beside the platform.  Only one change at the
Ghent station—no Englishman; no bundle of
railway rugs, umbrella and sticks, waterproof
coat, camp-stool, and red-faced Murray, shining
like a star in the midst of them; no bowing
commissiomiaire conducting milor to his carriage;
priests in big shovel-hats, fat-faced Flemish
maidens; Ghent burghers, looking particularly
unlike one's idea of Philip van Artavelde;
porters, idlers, everything as usual, except the
English travellers.  So at Malines, where, as
usual, we stop for half an hour's refreshment, I
perceive the lack of English travellers; the
buvette, where assemble the choice spirits of
the third and fourth classes, is filled with
roysterers drinking that mahogany-coloured
beer with a white woolly froth, which is at once
so nasty and so reminiscent of a pantomime
beverage; but the first-class restaurant (so red-
velvety, so gilded and looking-glassed, and
artificial-flowered, and marble-tabled) has only
three visitors: a Belgian officer in a grey overcoat,
bright blue trousers and gilt spurs: a fat
German, perpetually wetting the point of the
pencil with which he is making notes: and myself.
So, throughput the journey.

Passing Liège, the sun burst out, and the deep
red cuttings, and the foaming waterfalls, and
babbling rivulets, and bright green growth of
what Thomas Hood aptly called the "lovely
environs" of that grim smoke-begrimed city,
glowed in his rays.  Indeed, the weather
continued so bright and genial that when we ran into
Cologne, at half-past four, I could scarcely believe
it was mid-winter.  But when I stood,
portmanteau in hand, at the railway station, I
soon realised the fact! In the touring season
the yard is filled with cabs and omnibuses; now,
there are three wretched droschkies, driverless
and badly horsed; then, you have to fight your
way through a shrieking crowd of touters, eager