in surplice and
stole, in the huge carved pulpit, preached with the most admirable
dramatic force, in a language that one can _all but_ understand. It is
so like English and German. Every now and then I could catch a word.
If you want to have an idea of the congregation, imagine the _nave_ of
York Minster (the side aisles rather filled up by altars,
etc.)--covered like a swarm of bees, with a congregation with really
rare exceptions of Flemish poor. Flam women, men, and children, and a
great many common soldiers. The women are dressed in white caps, and
all have scarves (just like funeral scarves) of fine ribbed black
silk; and, Flemish prayer-books in hand, they sit listening to the
sermon. Then it comes to an end with some invocation of something, at
which there is a scraping of chairs and everybody goes round to the
Altar. Then organ, fiddles, all sorts of instruments, and a splendid
"company" of singers--the musical Mass began.

* * * * *

It is all wonderful, and I feel laying up a store of happiness in
going over it at home. How I wish some of you were here! I know my
letters are very dull, and I am _so_ sorry. But though I have a famous
appetite, and can walk and "sight-see" like anything, I have not got
back my _nerve_. Somehow I can't describe it, but you must excuse my
stupidity. I hope R. is happy. He says he is, and dreads it coming to
an end!!! I am very glad, for I feel a heavy weight on _him_ and _he_
feels like reposing on a floating soap-bubble! We are as jolly as
possible really, and nothing is left in me, but a rather strained
nervous feeling, which will soon be gone. You would have laughed to
see R. buying snuff to-day, and cigars. He goes in, lays his finger on
the cigars, and says--"Poor wun frank?" To which the woman
replies--"trieze," and he buys six and sneezes violently, on which she
produces snuff, fills his box, and charges a trifle, and he abuses her
roundly in English, with a polite face, to his own great enjoyment. We
mean to make the cash hold out if possible to come home in the
_Alster_. If it runs short, we shall give up Ghent and Bruges--this
place alone is worth coming for.

Your ever loving sister, J.H.G.

To H.K.F.G.

_Hotel de Vieux, Doellen, The Hague._
September 27, 1865.

DEAREST D----,

This morning we had a great treat! We took an open carriage and drove
from the Hague to Scheveningen on the coast. All the way you go
through an av