In wandering about Brussels one is struck with the frequent occurrence of ecclesiastical ruins--these are generally the remains of monasteries suppressed at the Revolution in 1793. The extensive, and apparently once handsome, house of the Capucines exhibits now only a heap of rubbish, with about five or six feet of the massive walls here and there; another, of which the chapel remained pretty entire, was used by our commissariat as a magazine for hay, straw, &c. &c. A more striking scene, perhaps, cannot be imagined than the _allée-verte_, with its long vista overarched by thickly-clothed branches of the stately elms lining it in double rows on either hand, the broad expanse of calm water covered by crowded and gaily-painted barges, ornamented with flags and streamers, and enlivened with music and singing. The spacious roads on each bank gay with carriages, equestrians, and numerous pedestrians--all apparently happy, consequently smiling and merry. I took this route one Sunday with the intention of visiting the Palace of Lavickens, but, alas! the luxury of lounging amidst the merry crowd under the shade of the elms, and amongst these joyous groups, detained one in such wise that, on arriving at the first lock, time no longer served, and my project was necessarily abandoned. As I turned homeward, the well-known overture to Lodoiska resounding from a neighbouring cabaret attracted me thither, and what was my surprise at finding the orchestra by which it was performed to consist of two pretty girls, each with a violin, whilst the old mother accompanied them on the violoncello. I afterwards heard these girls at a café near the Park, where, the audience being more refined, their performance was more careful. I thought their music exquisite, as well as their singing, which they sometimes mingled with it. Had their expressive black eyes and coquettish _cornettes_ of red-striped cotton anything to do with it? In my subsequent visits to Brussels, instead of continuing to frequent the Hôtel d’Angleterre, I found a brother officer whose horses were billeted on the Hôtel d’Aremberg, and who offered me stalls whenever I came to town--an arrangement so convenient that his Highness was patronised by me during the remainder of my sojourn at Strytem. I am not sure that I ever saw my princely host, but believe that a tall, thin, elderly man, with a powdered head, a most amiable countenance, and most gentlemanly bearing, who one day crossed the stable-yard whilst I was there, must have been the Prince. We looked at, but did not condescend to bow to, each other. His being on the wrong side of politics was the cause of his domain being thus invaded by strangers, and the billetmaster was careful to keep him full.