We left Ostend for Bruges by the railroad, sending forward our carriage to Ghent. The fare for the entire distance is little more than for one half, the trouble of mounting and dismounting, being the same for the longer as for the shorter stage. The arrangements of the railroad differ in no essential particular from those of England, except that every passenger’s luggage is more scrupulously examined and charged for extra weight, after which, it is taken from the custody of the owner, who receives a ticket, on the production of which, it is delivered up to him, on reaching the town for which his place has been secured. This system, however, is found to be productive of frequent mistakes and confusion, from trunks and portmanteaus being sent beyond their destination, or left behind altogether. The conductors and officials are all arrayed in uniform, and the starting of the train from each station is announced by a few notes of a trumpet. The engines are chiefly of English manufacture, with the exception of a few made at Liege. Belgium is of all countries in Europe the best calculated for railroads; its vast alluvial plains, hardly presenting a perceptible inequality. From Ostend to Ghent, I scarcely noticed a single cutting or an embankment, the rails being laid upon the natural surface of the ground, and the direction as straight as the flight of an arrow, without the necessity of a curve or inclination, except to approach some village station on the road. The old mode of conveyance by the Trekschuit, on the Canal de Bruges, though not discontinued, is comparatively deserted for the railroad. It is, however, by no means disagreeable, the boats being drawn along at the rate of nearly six miles an hour, the accommodation excellent and unique, and the only drawback, the effluvia which in summer arises from the almost stagnant waters of the canal, occasionally heightened by the poisoned streams in which flax had been steeped by the farmers, which is instantly fatal to the fish. The air and general appearance of Bruges, on entering it by the railroad, which passes direct into the centre of the town, cannot fail to arrest the interest and attention of a stranger. It is unlike any place that one has been accustomed to before, and is certainly the most perfect specimen of a town of the middle ages on this side the Rhine. Its houses have not been rebuilt in modern times, and with their ample fronts, vast arched entrances and sculptured ornaments, and fantastic gables, are all in keeping with our stately impressions of its feudal counts and affluent but turbulent burghers. “Le voyageur,” says its historian, M. Ferrier, “au milieu de ces vieux hôtels, de ces pierres féodales encore debout, espère toujours qu’une noble dame au chaperon de velours et au vertugadin élargi, va sortir des portes basses en ogives le faucon au poign, la queue retroussée par un page.”