A detestable country all the way from Calais to Amsterdam. Fine cities—admirable architects, far exceeding us, both in their old and new buildings—good bakers—very ugly—stink of tobacco—horses all fat—soldiers little—inns dirty, and very expensive;—better modern painters than we are.
I went to the Belgic Parliament. There was a pound short in the public accounts, and they were speaking about it. Our friend Van de Weyer has been very hospitable and civil to us. He sails for England today, and there is no idea of his taking office. He prefers the English embassy to any other situation, and I am very glad of it. I like his mother,—a very good-hearted, amiable old lady.
The finest city I have seen is Amsterdam; I was much struck with its commercial grandeur. The only city I could live in, of all I have seen, is the city of Brussels. All the great cities of Flanders are under-peopled.
We dined yesterday with Sir Hamilton Seymour; a dinner which consisted of all the accidental arrivals at Brussels, and went off well enough. He seems good-natured and obliging, and the female ambassador is pretty.
