looking meat, that would do wonders under the
hands of Cattermole or Haghe. In the tower there is a chime of bells
that keep ringing perpetually. They not only play tunes of themselves,
and every quarter of an hour, but an individual performs selections from
popular operas on them at certain periods of the morning, afternoon, and
evening. I have heard to-day "Suoni la Tromba," "Son Vergin Vezzosa,"
from the "Puritani," and other airs, and very badly they were played
too; for such a great monster as a tower-bell cannot be expected to
imitate Madame Grisi or even Signor Lablache. Other churches indulge in
the same amusement, so that one may come here and live in melody all day
or night, like the young woman in Moore's "Lalla Rookh."

In the matter of art, the chief attractions of Bruges are the pictures
of Hemling, that are to be seen in the churches, the hospital, and the
picture-gallery of the place. There are no more pictures of Rubens to
be seen, and, indeed, in the course of a fortnight, one has had quite
enough of the great man and his magnificent, swaggering canvases. What
a difference is here with simple Hemling and the extraordinary creations
of his pencil! The hospital is particularly rich in them; and the legend
there is that the painter, who had served Charles the Bold in his war
against the Swiss, and his last battle and defeat, wandered back wounded
and penniless to Bruges, and here found cure and shelter.

This hospital is a noble and curious sight. The great hall is almost
as it was in the twelfth century; it is spanned by Saxon arches, and
lighted by a multiplicity of Gothic windows of all sizes; it is very
lofty, clean, and perfectly well ventilated; a screen runs across the
middle of the room, to divide the male from the female patients, and we
were taken to examine each ward, where the poor people seemed happier
than possibly they would have been in health and starvation without it.
Great yellow blankets were on the iron beds, the linen was scrupulously
clean, glittering pewter-jugs and goblets stood by the side of each
patient, and they were provided with godly books (to judge from
the binding), in which several were reading at leisure. Honest old
comfortable nuns, in queer dresses of blue, black, white, and flannel,
were bustling through the room, attending to the wants of the sick. I
saw about a dozen of these kind women's faces: one was young--all were
healthy and cheerful. One came with bare blue