clesiastical Estates, and lately
they have had the pleasure of being pillaged by French Marshals and
satisfying the voracious appetite of the Crown Prince, who put them to
an expense of 150,000 frs. in providing his table for 7 weeks, and when
they hinted that they thought it but fair their Royal visitor should pay
for his own dinners, he departed, leaving his bills unpaid. He seems to
have been secreting himself here like a Cat in a barn watching the
motions of the mice, acting solely from interested motives, and ready to
pounce upon whatever might be safely turned to his own advantage. When
the French retreated out of Holland the Duke of Tarentum[88] did the
poor people at Liege the honour of making their town a point in the line
of his march. He stopped one night, and because the inhabitants did not
illuminate and express great joy at his illustrious presence he demanded
an immediate contribution of 300,000 frs., 150,000 of which were paid
the next morning. Luckily the Allies appeared towards Noon, and I hope
his Grace will not get the remainder.

In the character of almost all these French military leaders there are
such blots and stains that one sickens at the thought of being of the
same species. It would be endless to recount the acts of rapacity
committed by all these engines of Imperial France; conscious that their
throne might one day fall, they lost no time in amassing wealth, and
pillage was the watchword from the Cathedral to the Cottage. Lisle is in
the hands of the French, and by their own account the people have
suffered every species of misery, yet they are strong for Napoleon,
Garrison and Citizen, and I cannot find that they ever vented their
feelings in any other way than in nicknaming their General Maison[89] (a
cruel Tyrant who destroyed all their suburbs under pretence they might
be in the way in case of a siege, which might have been done in a day
had the Allies ever thought of such a thing); he is in consequence
called General Brise Maison, and then the foolish people laugh and cry,
"Que c'est bon cela," think they have done a great feat and submit like
lambs. The country from Liege to Brussels wears the same Anglicised
face--hedgerows and trees without any leading features. Bruxelles is a
nice town--and really it was a gratification in passing the gate to see
a fat John Bull keeping guard with his red coat. The Garrison consists
of about 3,000, amongst the rest a regiment of Highlanders whose dr