ital, with its work-a-day, not to say dingy look, nothing is more
exhilarating or gay than one of these first-class French provincial
towns, such as Marseilles, Bordeaux, or this Lille. There is a
glittering air of substantial opulence, with an attempt--and a
successful one--at fine boulevards and fine trees.

The approach to Lille recalled the protracted approach to some great
English manufacturing town, the tall chimneys flying by the
carriage-windows a good quarter of an hour before the town was
reached. A handsome, rich, and imposing city, though content to accept
a cast-off station from Paris, as a poor relative would accept a
cast-off suit of clothes. The fine facade was actually transported
here stone by stone, and a much more imposing one erected in its
place.

The prevailing one-horse tram-cars seem to suit the Flemish
associations. The Belgians have taken kindly and universally to them,
and find them to be 'exactly in their way.' The fat Flemish horse
ambles along lazily, his bells jingling. No matter how narrow or
winding the street, the car threads its way. The old burgher of the
Middle Ages might have relished it. The old disused town-hall is
quaint enough with its elaborately-carved _facade_, with a high double
roof and dormers, and a lantern surmounting all. A bit of true
'Low-Countries' work; but one often forgets that we are in French
Flanders. Entertaining hours could be spent here with profit, simply
in wandering from spot to spot, eschewing the 'town valet' and
professional picture guide. It is an extraordinary craze, by the way,
that our countrymen will want always 'to see the pictures,' as though
that were the object of travelling.

[Illustration: BOURSE. LILLE.]

One gazes with pleasure and some surprise at its handsome streets,
where everyone seems to live and thrive. There is a general air of
opulence. The new streets, built under the last empire on the Paris
model, offer the same rich and effective detail of gilded inscriptions
running across the houses, balconies and flowers, with the luxurious
_cafes_ below, and languid _flaneurs_ sitting down to their
_absinthe_ or coffee among the orange-trees. These imposing mansions,
built with judicious loans--the 'OBLIGATIONS OF THE CITY OF
LILLE' are quoted on the Exchanges--are already dark and rusted,
and harmonize with the older portions. At every turn there is a
suggestion of Brussels, and nowhere so much as on the fine _place_,
where the emb