The most conspicuous object in Bruges, both from a distance and within the walls, is the lofty tower of an ancient building, called “Les Halles”--an edifice of vast extent, whose original destination seems to be but imperfectly known, but which, in all probability, served as a depot for merchandize during the palmy days of the Hanseatic League, whilst in its ponderous tower were deposited the ancient records of the city. The lower buildings are now partly unoccupied, and partly used for the purposes of a covered market, and on the tower are stationed the warders, who, night and day, look out for fires in the streets of the city or the suburbs. It contains, likewise, one of those sweet carillons of bells, which, in their excellence, seem to be peculiar to the Netherlands, as in no other country that I am aware of do their chimes approach to any thing like harmonious music. In the tower of Les Halles and some others in Belgium, they are set in motion by a huge cylinder with moveable keys, similar to those in a barrel organ or a Geneva box. The tunes are arranged and altered every year at Easter, and the carillon, besides announcing every hour, is played almost daily for the amusement of the citizens. But besides the mechanical arrangement, there are keys which can be played on at pleasure, and during our visit, the “chief musician” commenced this feat, hammering with his fists, defended first by strong leather, and tramping with his heels, till every muscle in his whole body seemed called into action--an exercise very like that of Falstaff’s recruit Bullfrog, when he “caught a cold _in ringing in the king’s affairs_ upon the coronation day.” The view from this tower is really surprising, owing to the vast level plain in which it stands, and which stretches to the horizon without an undulation upon every side; the view is only limited by the ability of the eye to embrace it, and the sight is bewildered with the infinity of villages, towers, forests, canals and rivers which it presents, taking in at one vast glance, the German Ocean, the distant lines of Holland, the towers of Ghent, and to the south, the remote frontier of France. Its views, like almost every thing else in the Netherlands, are peculiar to itself, and in the repose and richness of cultivated beauty, have not a parallel in any country of Europe.