On the Sunday we passed in Ghent a mass was celebrated expressly for Monsieur (le Comte d’Artois). Expecting something grand, I repaired to the cathedral in company with several other officers. We were received with great civility by the functionaries of the establishment, and provided with seats in the stalls and organ-loft. Our party formed the whole congregation, for there were none of the inhabitants. We had not been long seated ere a slight movement and the shuffling of feet in the direction of the grand entrance announced the approach of the illustrious communicant; and Monsieur entered the choir, followed at a little distance by the gentlemen of his suite: a small man of good figure, but of no very distinguished appearance. He was dressed in a blue uniform coat with silver embroidery, white breeches, and silk stockings. He advanced with a quick pace to the steps of the high altar, where a single chair had been placed for him, bowed very low, crossed himself most devoutly, bowed again, and, kneeling on the chair with his arms resting on the back, buried his face in his hands, and in this attitude remained throughout the ceremony. His suite, military and civil, ranged themselves across the choir behind him. A few found chairs, and knelt on them, but the greater part remained standing, and seemed little interested in the service. At length, to my great joy, the last taper was extinguished, and, tired to death, I made my escape, resolved never again to attend a royal mass. With the interior of the houses in Ghent I had little acquaintance, having seen no more of them than the rooms inhabited by our own officers. In our Quartier de Bruges were many very large and even magnificent ones--some of them in the modern style, with French windows, of three or four stories, or occasionally only one, with a basement entirely blank; others, again, in the heavy antique Flemish style, with large windows in deep embrasures (perhaps with little panes of glass set in lead, and divided by heavy stone mullions)--those on the ground-floor defended by an iron cage, as in Spain; lofty folding-doors, full of iron studs, surmounted by a cumbrous, tasteless pediment, or an equally cumbrous escutcheon, looking gloomily magnificent. In all cases, however, the most scrupulous cleanliness and neatness were general characteristics; and as the street-doors usually stood wide open throughout the day, the eye of the passenger, as it glanced through the darkened perspective of the entrance-hall, was sure to be refreshed by the vivid verdure of vines and acacias decorating the interior court--a never-failing accompaniment, particularly to the older houses.