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 as 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 off 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 moment he knew that our prisoner was a Westphalian; had he fortunately announced himself as a native of any other country, I believe he would have rather relieved the fellow’s distress, than pierced his ears, and perhaps his heart, with the bitter reproaches he heaped upon him: however, as the affair furnished me with a hearty laugh, I prevailed upon my companion to forgive the poor wretch, whose face and clothes indicated extreme wretchedness, and permit him to depart in peace; and we proceeded without further interruption to within a short stage of Dusseldorf, where we slept. The appearance of Dusseldorf at a little distance is very handsome, particularly from the _Grand ducal road_, as it was styled. Upon my driving up to the principal inn, the maitre d’hotel with great pomp came out, and informed me in bad French that his house was then nearly full; that the grand Dutchess from Paris was expected every day; that his bed-rooms would be wanted for those belonging to the court who could not be accommodated at the palace, and, finally, that he could not receive me. As I immediately guessed his object, I told him that I intended to stay some days at Dusseldorf. “Oh, very well,” said he, archly adding, “you are an Englishman I perceive.” “No, sir, an American.” “Oh,” replied he, “never mind, it is the same thing: walk in, sir, and we will see what we can do for you.” This inn, the only eminent one in town, is spacious and handsome, and the table d’hote excellently supplied with a great variety of dishes, both at dinner and supper, perfectly well dressed. During my stay I was known by no other name than that of Monsieur Anglois, an appellation not very gratifying to me, upon reflecting that I was a sojourner in the territory of a brother-in-law of Napoleon, who, knowing that he is no favourite with the English, dislikes England and every thing that can remind him of it, to such a degree, that an English gentleman and lady, whom I knew, who had been detained prisoners of war in France, but were afterwards liberated, upon their route from Verdun to Holland to embark for their country, were one