About four miles from Liege, in one of the glens of this beautiful river, is Chaudefontaine, a spring which has long been the holiday resort of the Liegois, and has now grown into a miniature watering place, with its hotels and other agrémens. And half way to Verviers, a road striking in between the hills on the right leads to Spa, one of the superannuated favourites of fashion, which has long since yielded the throne to younger and gayer rivals. The crowd now rolls past the turn in the road which leads to it, eager to reach Carlsbad or Wisbaden, and no longer contented, as in the Sir Charles Grandison age, to pace the “_Promenades de quatre heures_,” walk minuets in the “_Vauxhall_,” or make stately excursions to the cottages of Marmontel’s Annette and Lubin. Still the country and scenery around it, and the magnificent mountains and woods of the Ardennes yield, in nothing, to the attractions of the later protegées of _ton_, but along with the rest of the ungrateful crowd, we too declined the open door of the antiquated and neglected beauty, and kept on the road to Verviers. Verviers is a long straggling, but by no means ordinary town, stretching along the banks of the Vesdre, whenever the command of the stream presented a desirable site for a factory. In this, nearly 20,000 inhabitants and their machinery are located along the stream, and the uplands forming, certainly, one of the most cheerful and healthy manufacturing communities in Europe. The grand staples, are wool in all its varieties of worsted and cloth, in the production of which the valley has long enjoyed a high reputation in Holland and France, and its goods are still exported to Italy and the Levant. Like the people of Liege, the workmen of Verviers caught the infection of the revolutionary mania in 1830, but their madness exhibited itself in a still more savage form. On the first intelligence of the revolt, they sprung, eager for the fray, and at once manifested their wishes, by hoisting the tri-colour of France, with whom they demanded an instant incorporation. The town has neither fortress nor garrison, and for two days it was the scene of the most disgusting and uncontrolled excesses. The people assembled in tumultuous masses, and with shouts of “liberty,” tore down the royal insignia of the Netherlands, and razed to the ground the houses of the government officers; factories were destroyed, machinery demolished, and the whole property of the flourishing valley seemed destined to destruction from the freaks of this drunken revolution. At length the soberer citizens, forming an urban guard and a council of safety, succeeded in restoring order, and securing their property from the fingers of the children of “Freedom.”