f the adventure to my own, though whether I was to represent
the prince or the count I could not even guess.

I was soon seated beside the countess in the luxurious britzka; the
count took his place on the box, and away we rattled over the stones
through the Porte de Namur, and along the pretty suburbs of Etterbech,
where we left the highroad, and entered the Bois de Cambre by that long
and beautiful _allee_ which runs on for miles, like some vast aisle in
a Gothic cathedral--the branches above bending into an arched roof, and
the tall beech-stems standing like the pillars.

The pleasant odour of the forest, the tempered light, the noiseless
roll of the carriage, gave a sense of luxury to the drive I can remember
vividly to this hour. Not that my enjoyment of these things was my only
one; far from it. The pretty countess talked away about everything that
came uppermost, in that strain of spirited and lively chit-chat which
needs not the sweetest voice and the most fascinating look to make
it most captivating. I felt like one in a dream; the whole thing was
fairy-land; and whether I looked into the depths of the leafy wood,
where some horsemen might now and then be seen to pass at a gallop,
or my eyes fell upon that small and faultless foot that rested on the
velvet cushion in the carriage, I could not trust the reality of the
scene, and could only mutter to myself, 'What hast thou ever done,
Arthur O'Leary, or thy father before thee, to deserve happiness like
this?'

Dear and kind reader, it may be your fortune to visit Brussels; and
although not exactly under such circumstances as I have mentioned
here, let me advise you, even without a beautiful Polonaise for your
companion, to make a trip to Boitsfort, a small village in the wood
of Soignies. Of course your nationality will lead you to Waterloo; and
equally of course, if you have any tact (which far be it from me not to
suppose you gifted with), you'll not dine there, the little miserable
cabarets that are called restaurants being wretched beyond description;
you may have a glass of wine--and if so, take champagne, for they cannot
adulterate it--but don't venture on a dinner, if you hope to enjoy one
again for a week after. Well, then, 'having done your Waterloo,' as
the Cockneys say, seen Sergeant Cotton and the church, La Haye Sainte,
Hougomont, and Lord Anglesey's boot--take your road back, not by that
eternal and noisy _chaussee_ you have come by, but turn off