goodness of the materials of which they are made. One may form some idea of the abundance of this fine country from the fact that, having been all last year the seat of war, and now everywhere occupied by numerous foreign troops, still there appeared no diminution in the supplies, and the markets of every town exhibit as great a profusion as ever. With the exception of a slight sandy eminence at Eccloo, the first undulations of the country we had yet seen were at Ghent. On the southern side of the town I ascended with pleasure a hill, which apparently was the commencement of a sort of rolling country extending towards Deynse. From its summit is an excellent view of the city and the fine country around it. Meadows of the liveliest green, intersected by numerous streams, exhibited everywhere immense quantities of linen exposed for bleaching--such was the scene immediately below. In the distance, as the plain became foreshortened, it seemed to be bounded by woods. The city itself was rendered a more pleasing object by having its sombre masses broken and relieved by large plots of garden-ground and the frequent intervention of foliage. On this hill stood a large square building, once a monastery, but suppressed during the Revolution, like many others. To what use it is now turned I could not guess, as not a living soul was to be seen in or about it of whom to make inquiry. The massive pile, with its numerous windows, high roof, and yawning portal, was not an unpicturesque object. I sauntered into its solitary court; grass had almost overgrown the pavement, and desolation was stamped on every feature. I could not look on all this without indulging in a dream, and in my mind’s eye embodying fat and lazy monks strolling about the court, or lounging in idle converse on the stone benches against the sunny wall; again, some more venerable figure passing the corridors in silent meditation. On the road from the town, too, I conjured up groups of ascending and descending brothers, and though not approving of their vocation, could not but regret the absence of their picturesque costume. The only convent I saw besides this in Ghent was an inhabited one, and it is to be hoped always will be. This is the Beguinage, to which I hardly know whether the term “convent” should be applied, for it rather resembles a small town. Each of the sisters has a separate dwelling, with a little flower-garden in front of it, much in the style of some of our better kind of alms-houses in England. It appears an old building, and is surrounded by a moat.