re of the _Abdication of Charles
V_. This fine work, considered by some critics as the masterpiece of the
great Belgian artist, is worthy of the pencil of Delaroche. Nor is it in
style unlike the best productions of that master, recalling the _Death of
Elizabeth_ by its admirable grouping and refinement of color.
Verboeckhoven is seen here at his best, his _Flock of Sheep in a Storm_, a
large and carefully-finished work, being replete with all the most
striking characteristics of his genius. Madou's _Interrupted Ball_ is a
brilliant and vivacious representation of a village festival troubled by
the intrusion of a group of dandies of the Directory--gay Incroyables who
chuck the country damsels under the chin, rouse their swains to jealous
wrath and otherwise misconduct themselves. Rohbe's pictures of still life
are perfect feasts of coloring, warm, rich and glowing as the heart of a
crimson rose brimming with the sunshine and sweetness of a summer's day.

The Musee itself is a noble building, and in point of arrangement and of
decoration forms a contrast to the dreary halls of the Luxembourg. The
gallery devoted to the old masters contains some valuable specimens of
early Flemish art, and some extremely interesting historical portraits,
the gem of the collection being a wonderfully fine portrait by Holbein
of Sir Thomas More.

But the most interesting point in all Brussels is the Hotel de Ville.
That marvellous edifice, that looks as though it ought to be preserved
in a velvet-lined case, so delicate and elaborate are its multitudinous
sculptures, lifts the exquisite tracery of its spire against the summer
sky, as perfect in its beauty as when Alva and Egmont and Orange passed
beneath its shadow ages ago. No spot in Europe, save perhaps the Tower
of London, is more haunted by historic memories than is this perfect
marvel of architectural beauty. The centuries roll back as we stand
beneath its shadow. There is a stain of blood upon the stones, and
Philip of Spain rides by, and the duke of Alva comes through yonder
doorway, and the air is full of thronging phantoms and of cries--the
wail of the Netherlands beneath the sword of the oppressor.

Around the Hotel de Ville are grouped a series of antique buildings, the
one more exquisite than the other--the ancient halls of the corporations
of Brussels, among which that of the brewers shows supreme by reason of
the luxury of its carvings and the care wherewith its beauty and