earned from the Flemish servants
of the house that it had formerly been the favourite residence of Van
Dyck; that the very furniture was unchanged since his time; the bed, the
table, the chair he had sat on were all preserved. The wretch--am I not
warranted in calling him so?--made notes of all this; before I had been
three weeks in my abode, out came a _Walk in Flanders_, in two volumes,
with a whole chapter about me, headed "Chateau de Van Dyck." There we
were, myself and my wife, in every window of the Row: Longman, Hurst,
Rees, Orme, Brown, Green, and Blue, had bought us at a price, and paid
for us; there we were--we, who courted solitude and retirement--to
be read of by every puppy in the West End, and every apprentice in
Cheapside. Our hospitality was lauded, as if I kept open house for
all comers, with "hot chops and brown gravy" at a moment's notice. The
antiquary was bribed to visit me by the fascinations of a spot "sacred
to the reveries of genius"; the sportsman, by the account of
my "preserves"; the idler, to say he had been there; and the
guide-bookmaker and historical biographer, to vamp up details for a new
edition of _Belgium as it was_, or _Van Dyck and his Contemporaries_.

'From the hour of the publication of that horrid book I never enjoyed a
moment's peace or ease. The whole tide of my travelling countrymen--and
what a flood it is!--came pouring into Ghent. Post-horses could not
be found sufficient for half the demand; the hotels were crowded;
respectable peasants gave up their daily employ to become guides to
the chateau; and little busts of Van Dyck were hawked about the
neighbourhood by children of four years old. The great cathedral of
Ghent, Van Scamp's pictures, all the historic remains of that ancient
city were at a discount; and they who formerly exhibited them as a
livelihood were now thrown out of bread. Like the dancing-master who has
not gone up to Paris for the last pirouette, or the physician who
has not taken up the stethoscope, they were reputed old-fashioned and
_passe_; and if they could not describe the Chateau de Van Dyck, were
voted among the bygones.

'The impulse once given, there was no stopping; the current was
irresistible. The double lock on the gate of the avenue, the bulldog at
the hall door, the closed shutters, the cut-away bell-rope, announced a
firm resolution in the fortress not to surrender; but we were taken by
assault, escaladed, and starved out in turns.

'Sc