whether any modern architect be capable of the _original conception_; and I am sure that, spite of the ‘Mechanic’s Magazine’ and the present philosophical studies of our masons, none of them could produce more perfect or better work. Like painting, architecture has had its day. Sir Christopher Wren himself acknowledged his astonishment at the boldness of the arches of King’s College Chapel, Cambridge, and confessed his ignorance as to their construction and mode of placing the key-stones. After all, the Hôtel de Ville is irregular in its construction, and the placing the tower at one extremity of the façade instead of the centre I have heard censured as a grievous fault;--I like it--there is originality even in that. The general effect is most imposing. Nor is the varied throng frequenting this fine place on market-days unworthy of it,--their quaint and original costume harmonising well with the character of the architectural setting around. Many were my visits to Brussels, and always was I delighted. If I did not see all that I now speak of at that first one, _n’importe_. The effect of St Gudule’s (the cathedral) is in this respect very good, situated upon a terrace to which one ascends by a broad flight of stairs to the fine Gothic portal, flanked by two handsome towers, and looking out over the city on the country beyond. Up this flight of steps I did ascend with solemn pace and slow, and into its beautiful nave: but the celebrated sculptured pulpit obtained from me no more observation or admiration than those of Ghent and Bruges. The emotion I feel on entering a Gothic cathedral is of a nature too solemn to admit of dwelling upon, or even noticing, such things. How strikingly Spanish are the charming Bruxellaises in their mantillas, gracefully crossed on the bosom! I have often heard and read that they are so, but had no recollection of the circumstance at the moment the fact struck me. The mantilla itself, so Spanish, has its testimony of their ancestry confirmed by the brilliant black eyes sparkling beneath it; and the prevalence of black dresses amongst the groups frequenting the park, or _allée-verte_, complete the illusion, and for a second we forget that these are not Andalusians. Never having been in company with any of the fair dames of Brussels, it would be presumption to say more than what I saw of them in public; my say, therefore, amounts to the having seen many lovely faces and graceful figures, though I had once foolishly fancied that all Flemish women must be of the same breed as Anne of Cleves, or the strapping wenches with whom Rubens and others have made us familiar--forgetting that, as the offspring of some of the finest men and handsomest women in Europe, the Austrians, Spaniards, and French, they ought to show well. From outward appearance it would be, perhaps, difficult to decide the origin; but in the ladies the Spanish blood generally seems to predominate.