Our dinner party consisted of a motley group of various nations, some of the individuals composing which, were pleasant, agreeable people. Amongst them were, what is in some measure unusual, two or three loquacious Germans; and also a humorous old Dutchman, from whom my friend elicited much information respecting the best route to Amsterdam. We felt inclined to have prosecuted our journey into Holland with this latter person, in order to have availed ourselves of his local information; but it is questionable whether a plan of this kind generally answers, for, on the continent, one does not always find liberality enough in fellow-travellers to put one on his guard against the impositions of their countrymen. We had a strong illustration of this about the present time. I have frequently mentioned a French gentleman with whom we had been travelling from Berne, and to whose kind attentions and gentlemanly conduct, we felt ourselves on a variety of occasions, highly indebted: one day, another Frenchman who had also been travelling with us, proposed to him to direct the landlord of the inn where we dined, to charge C⸺ and myself double the established price, so as to let them off without payment. Our friend most indignantly rejected the proposal, asserting that he was a disgrace to his country, and that it was the conduct of such scoundrels, which led to the traduction of its character. I must name one other individual of our dinner party at Bingen,—a watchmaker, with a pack-full of watches, some of which he exhibited to us; his prices were from six francs, to twice as many Louis, each; several of our companions purchased of him at the former rate. How he could afford to sell upon such terms, it is not easy to account for, without supposing that he must have stolen his goods. He was a civil middle-aged man, and had travelled over a great part of Europe, and, in particular, followed the French army into Russia, where he sold great numbers of his watches to the soldiers in exchange, I suppose, for their plunder. After dinner we recommenced our journey, and at half past eight arrived at Coblentz. We were recommended by some of our fellow-passengers to fix ourselves at the Pomme d’Or at this place, which proved, however, to be only a second rate inn; and we afterwards learnt that the hotel of the Three Swiss is the preferable one for travellers proceeding by the Coche d’Eau. On the following morning, we made a party with two young Germans to visit the baths of Emms, distant about three leagues on the other side of the Rhine; for this purpose we engaged a coach, to convey us over one of the worst roads we had yet met with.