though printed for more than a century, still "boggles " at the name "Smith," and at its best is never astray more than a letter or two in each English name. There may the awe-stricken Briton read with delight of the strings of Royal Highnesses-sometimes of a queen or two-who usually descend at our banker Heymal's. This unassuming Spa is highly popular with certain of the English nobility, many of whom come to be "quiet," after the flash or glare and hurly-burly of Homburg. The shopkeeping and merchant element is very strong; and from Verviers and Louvain and other "contagious" towns, as Mrs. Malaprop would say, the Belgian traders arrive for their little holiday in new hats and queerly-cut coats, plenty of straps and travelling bags, not forgetting those queer little carpetbags with a box tacked on the bottom, which always seems on the verge of bursting away from the upper portion. These honest folk Occupy thin little queer rooms in what seem pasteboard houses, and are very happy in their way, and in their own set, with the balls, promenades, concerts, illuminations, and other little toys with which the Administration amuses its grown-up children.

All the determined valetudinarians are abroad betimes, at six o'clock; but it is between seven and eight that our little mall begins to fill. No place could be imagined which has prettier alleys. and promenades, which we have the satisfaction of knowing are not new, or fashioned by a greedy company of speculators, but formed of fine old trees, under which the "great Czar Peter" himself trudged up and down after quaffing his half-dozen goblets of Pouhon. These walks stil! retain, as we said, their names-the "Seven o'clock Promenade," or the "Four o'clock" ditto, the "Green Lane," the "Round Point," and others of the same kind. The little Place will re-echo at this time with the clatter of hoofs and the rattle of carriage-wheels, for here stands a crowd of bloused men who have their horses and pony phaetons to let. These little creatures have a surprising spirit and endurance, going through their work admirably, which is indeed heavy enough. Nearly every pleasant road out of Spa leads up a hill of the steepest kind, duly paved; and half-a-dozen times in the day these stout little roans and greys and whites are driven by clumsy French and Belgian charioteers at full speed up the ascent. But this performance is nothing to other feats by the same gentry when they sit astride on these enduring animals. The general tapage, the flurry, the shouting even, when our brave Belgian or Frenchman goes out for this ride, especially with a party, is an exhibition in itself. When they are fairly started, they jog as though they would fall in pieces themselves, or dissolve

the unhappy hack beneath them in pieces. Away they go, working and churning almost at their horses' mouths, forcing them to trot up the steep paved hills, so that it is amazing how the poor beasts keep their feet. But they are as sure-footed as mules, otherwise there would be a long catalogue of broken collar-bones and arms, and possibly necks. To see a Frenchman or Belgian on horseback is at no time an edifying spectacle, but when he is en voyage, and in rampant equestrian spirits, he is more objectionable than one of our own "Arrys" on a donkey at Hampstead Heath. More pleasant is it to see our English ladies driving their little carriages out in long procession, to make "the tour of the Springs." For a mile or so away, in different directions, are these romantic little wells, each of various healing powers, situated in the most shaded dells and groves, each with its little temple or colonnade; and here every morning we see a little bivouac, a halt for a glass, the roans and greys browsing, while a light breakfast of delicious butter and café-au-lait is served beneath the spreading trees. There is the "Sauvenière," the "Barisart," the "Géronstère," and others, each of which has its little history of old fashion and gaiety, a hundred or fifty years. old. Lords and dukes and seigneurs of Louis XIV.'s day even have come out here and junketed, and given their fêtes and made the "tour of the Springs," as we are doing now. There is no vulgarity in the associations of this place.

Pleasant reminders of the past are the old assembly rooms of various kinds, such as the Salle Levoz, the "Wauxhall "—which it would be heresy here to spell with a "V." We must, like old Weller, put it down a Wee. On a rare occasion, once perhaps in the year, these antique chambers are thrown open, and it is hard not to be affected as we look round at the faded gilding and ragged hangings, and their noble proportions. We can thus call up the old "quality" of the last century who came and danced their minuets here. Now a school is held in one room and the Protestant "culte" in another. These survivals must soon be pulled down, or allowed to decay, as the expense of keeping such vast rambling saloons in repair is

considerable.

After the morning's driving and drinking the Spa day languishes арасе. Our English set themselves bravely to writing home those profuse epistles which seem a necessity, once we go abroad; or they invade the reading-room to enter on those unseemly contests for the Times and Morning Post, supplied gratuitously by the Administration, which would go to fortify a professional cynic in his meanest view of human nature. There do we see benevolent eyes now giaring rage

VOL. CCLXX.

NO. 1921.

D

and defiance at the reader who has been lucky enough to secure the journals of the day, and who, in his turn, feels a fiendish satisfaction in irritating the expectants by his thorough and leisurely mode of mastering the contents. Sometimes the more malignant make feints of rising, or of laying down the coveted newspaper, fluttering it from its wooden flagstaff, which produces a simultaneous rush from the greedy ones. But he abstractedly turns over the next pages and travels down a new column. The Administration kindly supplies note-paper and envelopes, so we can conduct our correspondence cheaply. In the old days, we could hear in the next room the ticktick or clack-clack of the revolving ball, and the Delphic utterances of the priests-an irritating, provocative sound, which drew people restlessly from their seats, and tempted them in "just to have a look." Then we saw the old story repeated once more, and so often described. Enough has been said of the damp foreheads and the clutching fingers; but perhaps a more disagreeable feature used to be the low enjoyment, the unconcealed exultation at winning, exhibited by a gentleman or lady having, say, a couple of thousand a year, when they "collar" a piece of the value, say, of one-andeightpence.

About every hour or so trains arrive or go away from the pretty little station, which is far down at the entrance of the avenue which leads to the town, and this we are made aware of by an hotel omnibus procession, which clatters down or returns. So defile past "the Flanders," "the York," "the Low Countries," "the Orange,' "the Europe," "the Lovely View," and many more. One has a special interest in "the York," which has been for years preceded by a sort of "runner" in the shape of a bay terrier, who canters down at full speed in the most frantic state of delight, looking over his shoulder all the time at his friends the horses, and rescuing himself with great dexterity from being trampled on by their hoofs. This, though performed a dozen times in the day, and for half-a-dozen years, is a source of delight to all, that seems ever fresh and unflagging. I firmly believe that, by this time, he fancies he is essential to the motion of the vehicle. Here he is now, coming down the steep corner, prancing and clearing the road, a most knowing-looking fellow with cropped ears and a blunt tail like a knob. I can see he is regarded affectionately by both horses and officials. Indeed, a feature of the simple and honest people we live among is their attachment to animals. Even the very pigs have an agile bearing that surprises us. Their legs are as long as a Newfoundland's, and they positively frisk and take leaps over obstacles.

instead of grunting and "snouting" their way through the mud. A herd of these amusing animals is sometimes driven round to the various hotels, the proprietors of which come out and select the most inviting; and during this delay it is curious to hear the piteous cries that break out, as though the survivors, from previous morning executions, had an instinct that their turn was now arrived. In fact, the only way to separate the victims is to drive the whole herd into the premises, and, detaining the selected ones, allow the balance to rush out wildly, which they do with extraordinary jumps of delight. The party then proceeds to another hostelry, where fresh hostages are chosen by the Commune of the kitchen. The shopkeepers and those who let apartments are simple, hard-working, and obliging; and it is gratifying to see that after this long probation they have nothing of our English landlady's greed. You can walk in, take what wares you please, and not pay till you go away, and not even then; and I am proud to say that our country-people enjoy the highest character for honourable dealing. Once there were some heavy losses from French families who found their means cut off owing to the disastrous events of "l'année terrible,” but they were suffered to depart, their scores undischarged, with a promise that when better days came they should be cleared off. This in most cases has since been done. The towns-people delight in gossip, and will chatter by the hour over their "Spa," which they believe to be the finest place in the universe; and the greatest event is the way the "season' " has gone, or what "strangers" have arrived or gone. These, by the way, seem very fond of the place, and linger on in a way that seems surprising, considering the meagre nature of the public attractions. But this may be the very reason of their preference. There is a charm in this rustic simplicity, after the flaring splendour of Homburg: though the presence of certain bankrupt noblemen is not so easily explained; the recent creditors of these gentlemen would be not a little amazed to see them "sporting their gold" on the green with surprising freedom.

These good people of Spa are entertaining from their love of talk, and still greater love of breaking into raptures on everything connected with their town. Is there to be some little fête, with those little coloured lamps "hung in chains " like felons, from tree to tree, they are in anticipatory ecstasies for a week concerning how "magnificent it is to be." "Tout ce qu'il y a de plus beau !” "Charmant !" "Magnifique !" are but the mildest terms of admiration. The Administration does not lag behind in flourishing its rather shabby treats. Occasionally, by a great exertion, some broken tenor from

Brussels, or some tenth-rate pianist, is secured; and then the posters are out all over the walls proclaiming what a treat is "offered to the strangers," when "Home, Sweet Home," with variations by a composer known as "Thelberg," will be performed, and the “Air from Richard" will be sung by "Pincenez, ancient tenor at the Théâtre Royal of Marseilles." As this entertainment is given for nothing, we all exhibit another little mean corner of our poor human nature, by crowding in and fighting desperately for places, determined not to miss a single item; whereas if but half a franc was charged we should be most contemptuous, and turn up our noses at poor Pincenez and his "Richard."

The same feeling makes our dowagers revel in the velvet armchairs which the Administration scatters about its rooms; whereas we are highly indignant at the penny we have to pay for the wooden chairs of the promenade. Our Administration also cunningly appeals to the holy feelings of maternity and paternity by " offering," as it is called, "a children's ball" in the middle of the day, when all our little French and Belgian urchins and misses are dressed up in the fantastic toilettes most in fashion, and clustered for the dance. The spectacle is really amusing; the orchestra solemnly performing its full répertoire of waltzes and quadrilles for this Lilliputian company, while the anxious and rival mammas sit round. The little belles ape the coquettishness of their seniors, and look out for juvenile partis with a precocious eye to business, and we can see a shade of anxiety over the matron's face when her child is neglected. There is a little urchin of high rank and lineage who gambols round his little sister who is drawn in a perambulator, before whom the British snob, male or female, unacquainted with the noble parents, can with difficulty refrain from prostration, even on the public walks. At all events he can accost the nurses, pat the little heads, declare them audibly to be the "sweetest little things in the world," and become a nuisance generally. Grey-headed men, young virgins, youths, all exhibit this profane homage, and I suspect, if money could secure the privilege, would be proud to be allowed to push the perambulator.

The balls for grown-up people, which are "offered" about once a week, are pleasant little pastimes enough. Here the dancing is ferocious on the part of our Belgian brothers and sisters, who fly round like so many Mercurys and Sylphs, and, like the young Twist, are always "asking for more." This rage for ball-room steeplechasing has grown so excessive that quadrilles are scarcely tolerated; the proportion the whole night being about a pennyworth of quadrille to an intolerable quantity of valse and mazurka. The Belgian