READER, perhaps you were never in Belgium? Haply you don't knowthe physiognomy of the country? You have not its lineamentsdefined upon your memory, as I have them on mine?

Three--nay four--pictures line the four-walled cell where arestored for me the records of the past. First, Eton. All in thatpicture is in far perspective, receding, diminutive; but freshlycoloured, green, dewy, with a spring sky, piled with glitteringyet showery clouds; for my childhood was not all sunshine--it hadits overcast, its cold, its stormy hours. Second, X----, huge,dingy; the canvas cracked and smoked; a yellow sky, sooty clouds;no sun, no azure; the verdure of the suburbs blighted andsullied--a very dreary scene.

Third, Belgium; and I will pause before this landscape. As to thefourth, a curtain covers it, which I may hereafter withdraw, ormay not, as suits my convenience and capacity. At any rate, forthe present it must hang undisturbed. Belgium! name unromanticand unpoetic, yet name that whenever uttered has in my ear asound, in my heart an echo, such as no other assemblage ofsyllables, however sweet or classic, can produce. Belgium! Irepeat the word, now as I sit alone near midnight. It stirs myworld of the past like a summons to resurrection; the gravesunclose, the dead are raised; thoughts, feelings, memories thatslept, are seen by me ascending from the clods--haloed most ofthem--but while I gaze on their vapoury forms, and strive toascertain definitely their outline, the sound which wakened themdies, and they sink, each and all, like a light wreath of mist,absorbed in the mould, recalled to urns, resealed in monuments.Farewell, luminous phantoms!

This is Belgium, reader. Look! don't call the picture a flat ora dull one--it was neither flat nor dull to me when I firstbeheld it. When I left Ostend on a mild February morning, andfound myself on the road to Brussels, nothing could look vapid tome. My sense of enjoyment possessed an edge whetted to thefinest, untouched, keen, exquisite. I was young; I had goodhealth; pleasure and I had never met; no indulgence of hers hadenervated or sated one faculty of my nature. Liberty I clasped inmy arms for the first time, and the influence of her smile andembrace revived my life like the sun and the west wind. Yes, atthat epoch I felt like a morning traveller who doubts not thatfrom the hill he is ascending he shall behold a glorious sunrise;what if the track be strait, steep, and stony? he sees it not;his eyes are fixed on that summit, flushed already, flushed andgilded, and having gained it he is certain of the scene beyond.He knows that the sun will face him, that his chariot is even nowcoming over the eastern horizon, and that the herald breeze hefeels on his cheek is opening for the god's career a clear, vastpath of azure, amidst clouds soft as pearl and warm as flame.Difficulty and toil were to be my lot, but sustained by energy,drawn on by hopes as bright as vague, I deemed such a lot nohardship. I mounted now the hill in shade; there were pebbles,inequalities, briars in my path, but my eyes were fixed on thecrimson peak above; my imagination was with the refulgentfirmament beyond, and I thought nothing of the stones turningunder my feet, or of the thorns scratching my face and hands.

I gazed often, and always with delight, from the window of thediligence (these, be it remembered, were not the days of trainsand railroads). Well! and what did I see? I will tell youfaithfully. Green, reedy swamps; fields fertile but flat,cultivated in patches that made them look like magnifiedkitchen-gardens; belts of cut trees, formal as pollard willows,skirting the horizon; narrow canals, gliding slow by theroad-side; painted Flemish farmhouses; some very dirty hovels; agray, dead sky; wet road, wet fields, wet house-tops: not abeautiful, scarcely a picturesque object met my eye along thewhole route; yet to me, all was beautiful, all was more thanpicturesque. It continued fair so long as daylight lasted,though the moisture of many preceding damp days had sodden thewhole country; as it grew dark, however, the rain recommenced,and it was through streaming and starless darkness my eye caughtthe first gleam of the lights of Brussels. I saw little of thecity but its lights that night. Having alighted from thediligence, a fiacre conveyed me to the Hotel de ----, where I hadbeen advised by a fellow-traveller to put up; having eaten atraveller's supper, I retired to bed, and slept a traveller'ssleep.

Next morning I awoke from prolonged and sound repose with theimpression that I was yet in X----, and perceiving it to bebroad daylight I started up, imagining that I had oversleptmyself and should be behind time at the counting-house. Themomentary and painful sense of restraint vanished before therevived and reviving consciousness of freedom, as, throwing backthe white curtains of my bed, I looked forth into a wide, loftyforeign chamber; how different from the small and dingy, thoughnot uncomfortable, apartment I had occupied for a night or two ata respectable inn in London while waiting for the sailing of thepacket! Yet far be it from me to profane the memory of thatlittle dingy room! It, too, is dear to my soul; for there, as Ilay in quiet and darkness, I first heard the great bell of St.Paul's telling London it was midnight, and well do I recall thedeep, deliberate tones, so full charged with colossal phlegm andforce. From the small, narrow window of that room, I first sawTHE dome, looming through a London mist. I suppose thesensations, stirred by those first sounds, first sights, are feltbut once; treasure them, Memory; seal them in urns, and keep themin safe niches! Well--I rose. Travellers talk of the apartmentsin foreign dwellings being bare and uncomfortable; I thought mychamber looked stately and cheerful. It had such large windows--CROISEES that opened like doors, with such broad, clear panesof glass; such a great looking-glass stood on my dressing-table--such a fine mirror glittered over the mantelpiece--the paintedfloor looked so clean and glossy; when I had dressed and wasdescending the stairs, the broad marble steps almost awed me, andso did the lofty hall into which they conducted. On the firstlanding I met a Flemish housemaid: she had wooden shoes, a shortred petticoat, a printed cotton bedgown, her face was broad, herphysiognomy eminently stupid; when I spoke to her in French, sheanswered me in Flemish, with an air the reverse of civil; yet Ithought her charming; if she was not pretty or polite, she was, Iconceived, very picturesque; she reminded me of the femalefigures in certain Dutch paintings I had seen in other years atSeacombe Hall.

I repaired to the public room; that, too, was very large and verylofty, and warmed by a stove; the floor was black, and the stovewas black, and most of the furniture was black: yet I neverexperienced a freer sense of exhilaration than when I sat down ata very long, black table (covered, however, in part by a whitecloth), and, having ordered breakfast, began to pour out mycoffee from a little black coffee-pot. The stove might bedismal-looking to some eyes, not to mine, but it was indisputablyvery warm, and there were two gentlemen seated by it talking inFrench; impossible to follow their rapid utterance, or comprehendmuch of the purport of what they said--yet French, in the mouthsof Frenchmen, or Belgians (I was not then sensible of the horrorsof the Belgian accent) was as music to my ears. One of thesegentlemen presently discerned me to be an Englishman--no doubtfrom the fashion in which I addressed the waiter; for I wouldpersist in speaking French in my execrable South-of-Englandstyle, though the man understood English. The gentleman, afterlooking towards me once or twice, politely accosted me in verygood English; I remember I wished to God that I could speakFrench as well; his fluency and correct pronunciation impressedme for the first time with a due notion of the cosmopolitancharacter of the capital I was in; it was my first experience ofthat skill in living languages I afterwards found to be sogeneral in Brussels.

I lingered over my breakfast as long as I could; while it wasthere on the table, and while that stranger continued talking tome, I was a free, independent traveller; but at last the thingswere removed, the two gentlemen left the room; suddenly theillusion ceased, reality and business came back. I, a bondsmanjust released from the yoke, freed for one week from twenty-oneyears of constraint, must, of necessity, resume the fetters ofdependency. Hardly had I tasted the delight of being without amaster when duty issued her stern mandate: "Go forth and seekanother service." I never linger over a painful and necessarytask; I never take pleasure before business, it is not in mynature to do so; impossible to enjoy a leisurely walk over thecity, though I perceived the morning was very fine, until I hadfirst presented Mr. Hunsden's letter of introduction, and gotfairly on to the track of a new situation. Wrenching my mindfrom liberty and delight, I seized my hat, and forced myreluctant body out of the Hotel de ---- into the foreign street.

It was a fine day, but I would not look at the blue sky or at thestately houses round me; my mind was bent on one thing, findingout "Mr. Brown, Numero --, Rue Royale," for so my letter wasaddressed. By dint of inquiry I succeeded; I stood at last atthe desired door, knocked, asked for Mr. Brown, and was admitted.

Being shown into a small breakfast-room, I found myself in thepresence of an elderly gentleman--very grave, business-like, andrespectable-looking. I presented Mr. Hunsden's letter; hereceived me very civilly. After a little desultory conversationhe asked me if there was anything in which his advice orexperience could be of use. I said, " Yes," and then proceeded totell him that I was not a gentleman of fortune, travelling forpleasure, but an ex-counting-house clerk, who wanted employmentof some kind, and that immediately too. He replied that as afriend of Mr. Hunsden's he would be willing to assist me as wellas he could. After some meditation he named a place in amercantile house at Liege, and another in a bookseller's shop atLouvain.

"Clerk and shopman!" murmured I to myself. "No." I shook myhead. I had tried the high stool; I hated it; I believed therewere other occupations that would suit me better; besides I didnot wish to leave Brussels.

"I know of no place in Brussels," answered Mr. Brown, "unlessindeed you were disposed to turn your attention to teaching. Iam acquainted with the director of a large establishment who isin want of a professor of English and Latin."

I thought two minutes, then I seized the idea eagerly.

"The very thing, sir!" said I.

"But," asked he, "do you understand French well enough to teachBelgian boys English?"

Fortunately I could answer this question in the affirmative;having studied French under a Frenchman, I could speak thelanguage intelligibly though not fluently. I could also read itwell, and write it decently.

"Then," pursued Mr. Brown, "I think I can promise you the place,for Monsieur Pelet will not refuse a professor recommended by me;but come here again at five o'clock this afternoon, and I willintroduce you to him."

The word "professor" struck me. "I am not a professor," said I.

"Oh," returned Mr. Brown, "professor, here in Belgium, means ateacher, that is all."

My conscience thus quieted, I thanked Mr. Brown, and, for thepresent, withdrew. This time I stepped out into the street witha relieved heart; the task I had imposed on myself for that daywas executed. I might now take some hours of holiday. I feltfree to look up. For the first time I remarked the sparklingclearness of the air, the deep blue of the sky, the gay cleanaspect of the white-washed or painted houses; I saw what a finestreet was the Rue Royale, and, walking leisurely along its broadpavement, I continued to survey its stately hotels, till thepalisades, the gates, and trees of the park appearing in sight,offered to my eye a new attraction. I remember, before enteringthe park, I stood awhile to contemplate the statue of GeneralBelliard, and then I advanced to the top of the great staircasejust beyond, and I looked down into a narrow back street, which Iafterwards learnt was called the Rue d'Isabelle. I wellrecollect that my eye rested on the green door of a rather largehouse opposite, where, on a brass plate, was inscribed,"Pensionnat de Demoiselles." Pensionnat! The word excited anuneasy sensation in my mind; it seemed to speak of restraint.Some of the demoiselles, externats no doubt, were at that momentissuing from the door--I looked for a pretty face amongst them,but their close, little French bonnets hid their features; in amoment they were gone.

I had traversed a good deal of Brussels before five o'clockarrived, but punctually as that hour struck I was again in theRue Royale. Re-admitted to Mr. Brown's breakfast-room, I foundhim, as before, seated at the table, and he was not alone--agentleman stood by the hearth. Two words of introductiondesignated him as my future master. "M. Pelet, Mr. Crimsworth;Mr. Crimsworth, M. Pelet" a bow on each side finished theceremony. I don't know what sort of a bow I made; an ordinaryone, I suppose, for I was in a tranquil, commonplace frame ofmind; I felt none of the agitation which had troubled my firstinterview with Edward Crimsworth. M. Pelet's bow was extremelypolite, yet not theatrical, scarcely French; he and I werepresently seated opposite to each other. In a pleasing voice,low, and, out of consideration to my foreign ears, very distinctand deliberate, M. Pelet intimated that he had just beenreceiving from "le respectable M. Brown," an account of myattainments and character, which relieved him from all scruple asto the propriety of engaging me as professor of English and Latinin his establishment; nevertheless, for form's sake, he would puta few questions to test; my powers. He did, and expressed inflattering terms his satisfaction at my answers. The subject ofsalary next came on; it was fixed at one thousand francs perannum, besides board and lodging. "And in addition," suggested M.Pelet, "as there will be some hours in each day during whichyour services will not be required in my establishment, you may,in time, obtain employment in other seminaries, and thus turnyour vacant moments to profitable account."

I thought this very kind, and indeed I found afterwards that theterms on which M. Pelet had engaged me were really liberal forBrussels; instruction being extremely cheap there on account ofthe number of teachers. It was further arranged that I should beinstalled in my new post the very next day, after which M. Peletand I parted.

Well, and what was he like? and what were my impressionsconcerning him? He was a man of about forty years of age, ofmiddle size, and rather emaciated figure; his face was pale, hischeeks were sunk, and his eyes hollow; his features were pleasingand regular, they had a French turn (for M. Pelet was no Fleming,but a Frenchman both by birth and parentage), yet the degree ofharshness inseparable from Gallic lineaments was, in his case,softened by a mild blue eye, and a melancholy, almost suffering,expression of countenance; his physiognomy was "fine etspirituelle." I use two French words because they define betterthan any English terms the species of intelligence with which hisfeatures were imbued. He was altogether an interesting andprepossessing personage. I wondered only at the utter absence ofall the ordinary characteristics of his profession, and almostfeared he could not be stern and resolute enough for aschoolmaster. Externally at least M. Pelet presented an absolutecontrast to my late master, Edward Crimsworth.

Influenced by the impression I had received of his gentleness, Iwas a good deal surprised when, on arriving the next day at mynew employer's house, and being admitted to a first view of whatwas to be the sphere of my future labours, namely the large,lofty, and well lighted schoolrooms, I beheld a numerousassemblage of pupils, boys of course, whose collective appearanceshowed all the signs of a full, flourishing, and well-disciplinedseminary. As I traversed the classes in company with M. Pelet, aprofound silence reigned on all sides, and if by chance a murmuror a whisper arose, one glance from the pensive eye of this mostgentle pedagogue stilled it instantly. It was astonishing, Ithought, how so mild a check could prove so effectual. When Ihad perambulated the length and breadth of the classes, M. Peletturned and said to me--

"Would you object to taking the boys as they are, and testingtheir proficiency in English?"

The proposal was unexpected. I had thought I should have beenallowed at least 3 days to prepare; but it is a bad omen tocommence any career by hesitation, so I just stepped to theprofessor's desk near which we stood, and faced the circle of mypupils. I took a moment to collect my thoughts, and likewise toframe in French the sentence by which I proposed to openbusiness. I made it as short as possible:--

"Messieurs, prenez vos livres de lecture."

"Anglais ou Francais, monsieur?" demanded a thickset, moon-facedyoung Flamand in a blouse. The answer was fortunately easy:--

"Anglais."

I determined to give myself as little trouble as possible in thislesson; it would not do yet to trust my unpractised tongue withthe delivery of explanations; my accent and idiom would be tooopen to the criticisms of the young gentlemen before me, relativeto whom I felt already it would be necessary at once to take upan advantageous position, and I proceeded to employ meansaccordingly.

"Commencez!" cried I, when they had all produced their books.The moon-faced youth (by name Jules Vanderkelkov, as I afterwardslearnt) took the first sentence. The "livre de lecture" was the"Vicar of Wakefield," much used in foreign schools because it issupposed to contain prime samples of conversational English; itmight, however, have been a Runic scroll for any resemblance thewords, as enunciated by Jules, bore to the language in ordinaryuse amongst the natives of Great Britain. My God! how he didsnuffle, snort, and wheeze! All he said was said in his throatand nose, for it is thus the Flamands speak, but I heard him tothe end of his paragraph without proffering a word of correction,whereat he looked vastly self-complacent, convinced, no doubt,that he had acquitted himself like a real born and bred"Anglais." In the same unmoved silence I listened to a dozen inrotation, and when the twelfth had concluded with splutter, hiss,and mumble, I solemnly laid down the book.

"Arretez!" said I. There was a pause, during which I regardedthem all with a steady and somewhat stern gaze; a dog, if staredat hard enough and long enough, will show symptoms ofembarrassment, and so at length did my bench of Belgians.Perceiving that some of the faces before me were beginning tolook sullen, and others ashamed, I slowly joined my hands, andejaculated in a deep "voix de poitrine"--

"Comme c'est affreux!"

They looked at each other, pouted, coloured, swung their heels;they were not pleased, I saw, but they were impressed, and in theway I wished them to be. Having thus taken them down a peg intheir self-conceit, the next step was to raise myself in theirestimation; not a very easy thing, considering that I hardlydared to speak for fear of betraying my own deficiencies.

"Ecoutez, messieurs!" said I, and I endeavoured to throw into myaccents the compassionate tone of a superior being, who, touchedby the extremity of the helplessness, which at first only excitedhis scorn, deigns at length to bestow aid. I then began at thevery beginning of the "Vicar of Wakefield," and read, in a slow,distinct voice, some twenty pages, they all the while sittingmute and listening with fixed attention; by the time I had donenearly an hour had elapsed. I then rose and said:--

"C'est assez pour aujourd'hui, messieurs; demain nousrecommencerons, et j'espere que tout ira bien."

With this oracular sentence I bowed, and in company with M. Peletquitted the school-room.

"C'est bien! c'est tres bien!" said my principal as we enteredhis parlour. "Je vois que monsieur a de l'adresse; cela, meplait, car, dans l'instruction, l'adresse fait tout autant que lesavoir."

>From the parlour M. Pelet conducted me to my apartment, my"chambre," as Monsieur said with a certain air of complacency.It was a very small room, with an excessively small bed, but M.Pelet gave me to understand that I was to occupy it quite alone,which was of course a great comfort. Yet, though so limited indimensions, it had two windows. Light not being taxed inBelgium, the people never grudge its admission into their houses;just here, however, this observation is not very APROPOS, for oneof these windows was boarded up; the open windows looked into theboys' playground. I glanced at the other, as wondering whataspect it would present if disencumbered of the boards. M. Peletread, I suppose, the expression of my eye; he explained:--

"La fenetre fermee donne sur un jardin appartenant a unpensionnat de demoiselles," said he, "et les convenances exigent--enfin, vous comprenez--n'est-ce pas, monsieur?"

"Oui, oui," was my reply, and I looked of course quite satisfied;but when M. Pelet had retired and closed the door after him, thefirst thing I did was to scrutinize closely the nailed boards,hoping to find some chink or crevice which I might enlarge, andso get a peep at the consecrated ground. My researches werevain, for the boards were well joined and strongly nailed. It isastonishing how disappointed I felt. I thought it would havebeen so pleasant to have looked out upon a garden planted withflowers and trees, so amusing to have watched the demoiselles attheir play; to have studied female character in a variety ofphases, myself the while sheltered from view by a modest muslincurtain, whereas, owing doubtless to the absurd scruples of someold duenna of a directress, I had now only the option of lookingat a bare gravelled court, with an enormous "pas de geant" in themiddle, and the monotonous walls and windows of a boys'school-house round. Not only then, but many a time after,especially in moments of weariness and low spirits, did I lookwith dissatisfied eyes on that most tantalizing board, longing totear it away and get a glimpse of the green region which Iimagined to lie beyond. I knew a tree grew close up to thewindow, for though there were as yet no leaves to rustle, I oftenheard at night the tapping of branches against the panes. In thedaytime, when I listened attentively, I could hear, even throughthe boards, the voices of the demoiselles in their hours ofrecreation, and, to speak the honest truth, my sentimentalreflections were occasionally a trifle disarranged by the notquite silvery, in fact the too often brazen sounds, which, risingfrom the unseen paradise below, penetrated clamorously into mysolitude. Not to mince matters, it really seemed to me adoubtful case whether the lungs of Mdlle. Reuter's girls or thoseof M. Pelet's boys were the strongest, and when it came toshrieking the girls indisputably beat the boys hollow. I forgotto say, by-the-by, that Reuter was the name of the old lady whohad had my window bearded up. I say old, for such I, of course,concluded her to be, judging from her cautious, chaperon-likeproceedings; besides, nobody ever spoke of her as young. Iremember I was very much amused when I first heard her Christianname; it was Zoraide--Mademoiselle Zoraide Reuter. But thecontinental nations do allow themselves vagaries in the choice ofnames, such as we sober English never run into. I think, indeed,we have too limited a list to choose from.

Meantime my path was gradually growing smooth before me. I, in afew weeks, conquered the teasing difficulties inseparable fromthe commencement of almost every career. Ere long I had acquiredas much facility in speaking French as set me at my ease with mypupils; and as I had encountered them on a right footing at thevery beginning, and continued tenaciously to retain the advantageI had early gained, they never attempted mutiny, whichcircumstance, all who are in any degree acquainted with theongoings of Belgian schools, and who know the relation in whichprofessors and pupils too frequently stand towards each other inthose establishments, will consider an important and uncommonone. Before concluding this chapter I will say a word on thesystem I pursued with regard to my classes: my experience maypossibly be of use to others.

It did not require very keen observation to detect the characterof the youth of Brabant, but it needed a certain degree of tactto adopt one's measures to their capacity. Their intellectualfaculties were generally weak, their animal propensities strong;thus there was at once an impotence and a kind of inert force intheir natures; they were dull, but they were also singularlystubborn, heavy as lead and, like lead, most difficult to move.Such being the case, it would have been truly absurd to exactfrom them much in the way of mental exertion; having shortmemories, dense intelligence, feeble reflective powers, theyrecoiled with repugnance from any occupation that demanded closestudy or deep thought. Had the abhorred effort been extortedfrom them by injudicious and arbitrary measures on the part ofthe Professor, they would have resisted as obstinately, asclamorously, as desperate swine; and though not brave singly,they were relentless acting EN MASSE.

I understood that before my arrival in M. Pelet's establishment,the combined insubordination of the pupils had effected thedismissal of more than one English master. It was necessary thento exact only the most moderate application from natures solittle qualified to apply--to assist, in every practicable way,understandings so opaque and contracted--to be ever gentle,considerate, yielding even, to a certain point, with dispositionsso irrationally perverse; but, having reached that culminatingpoint of indulgence, you must fix your foot, plant it, root it inrock--become immutable as the towers of Ste. Gudule; for a step--but half a step farther, and you would plunge headlong into thegulf of imbecility; there lodged, you would speedily receiveproofs of Flemish gratitude and magnanimity in showers of Brabantsaliva and handfuls of Low Country mud. You might smooth to theutmost the path of learning, remove every pebble from the track;but then you must finally insist with decision on the pupiltaking your arm and allowing himself to be led quietly along theprepared road. When I had brought down my lesson to the lowestlevel of my dullest pupil's capacity--when I had shown myself themildest, the most tolerant of masters--a word of impertinence, amovement of disobedience, changed me at once into a despot. Ioffered then but one alternative--submission and acknowledgmentof error, or ignominious expulsion. This system answered, and myinfluence, by degrees, became established on a firm basis. "Theboy is father to the man," it is said; and so I often thoughtwhen looked at my boys and remembered the political history oftheir ancestors. Pelet's school was merely an epitome of theBelgian nation.