ng by degrees, never for an instant out of
sight. It seems a fitting introduction to the noble, historical, and
poetical city to which it belongs. It _is_ surely ANTWERP! We
see Charles V., and Philip, and the exciting troubles of the Gueux,
the Dutch, the Flemings, the argosies from all countries in the great
days of its trade. Such is the mysterious power of association, which
it ever exerts on the 'reminiscent.' How different, and how much more
profitable, too, is this mode of approaching the place, than the other
more vulgar one of the railway terminus, with the cabs and omnibuses
waiting, and the convenient journey to the hotel.

These old cities--Lille, Douai, and Valenciennes--all boast their
gateways, usually named after the city to which the road leads. Thus
we have 'Porte de Paris,' 'Porte de Lille,' etc. I confess to a deep
interest in all gateways of this kind; they have a sort of poetry or
romance associated with them; they are grim, yet hospitable, at times
and seasons having a mysterious suggestion. There are towns where the
traveller finds the gate obdurately closed between ten o'clock at
night and six in the morning. These old gates have a state and
flamboyant majesty about them, as, in Lille, the Porte de Paris is
associated with the glories of Louis XIV.; while in Douai there is
one of an old pattern--it is said of the thirteenth century--with
curious towers and spires. Even at Calais there is a fine and majestic
structure, 'Porte de Richelieu,' on the town side, through which every
market cart and carriage used to trundle. There are florid devices
inscribed on it; but now that the walls on each side are levelled,
this patriarchal monument has but a ludicrous effect, for it is left
standing alone, unsupported and purposeless. The carts and tramcars
find their way round by new and more convenient roads made on each
side.

How pleasant is that careless wandering up through some strange and
unfamiliar place, led by a sort of instinct which habit soon
furnishes! In some of the French 'Guides,' minute directions are given
for the explorer, who is bidden to take the street to right or to
left, after leaving the station, etc. But there is a piquancy in this
uncertainty as compared with the odious guidance of the _laquais de
place_. I loathe the tribe. Here was to be clearly noted the languid,
lazy French town where nothing seemed to be doing, but everyone
appeared to be comfortable--'the fat, contented, st