LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 75 



Into this convent no love-letters can ever gain admittance ; nor has 

 a scheming adventurer the smallest chance of coming at wealth, by 

 laying plans to inveigle the unsuspecting victim into his snares. The 

 generous nuns are unwearied in their exertions to prepare those in- 

 trusted to their charge, both for this life and for the next. There are 

 members of my family one, alas ! no more who have reason to bless 

 the day in which they entered this elegant retreat of plenty, peace, 

 and piety. The church of the convent is worthy of the name in 

 every point of view ; and its marble altar, originally from Rome, is a 

 masterpiece of ornamental architecture. On the wall over the grate 

 in the audience- room for visitors, there hangs a picture of a boy 

 laughing at his own performance on the fiddle. So true is this to 

 nature, that you can never keep your eyes from gazing on it whilst 

 you are sitting there. Were thieving innocent, and the act injurious 

 to none, I would set my brains at work how to purloin this fascinat- 

 ing picture ; and then, if I succeeded in adding to it the representa- 

 tion of a dead bittern suspended by the leg in the Academy of 

 Arts, I would consider myself owner of two paintings, at which you 

 might gaze and gaze again, and come again and gaze, and never feel 

 fatigued with gazing at them. 



" At the fatal period of the suppression of monasteries in Belgium, 

 when Joseph II. had plundered their treasures and dispersed the 

 monks, his government was so fearful of public execration, and of the 

 consequences arising from a proceeding so unjust, that it actually 

 hired wretches from the lowest of the people, and clothed them in 

 the habits of the exiled religious. Under this scandalous disguise, 

 they were made drunk, and went up and down the streets as monks, 

 to show the people how glad they were to be released from their 

 religious vows. 



"At Ghent theie is a splendid show of osteology in the museum, 

 under the scientific direction of Monsieur de Dutys, whose urbanity 

 and knowledge of Natural History enable his visitors to pass many 

 a pleasant hour in the apartments. When the monks flourished in 

 this city, there was a huge chaldron called St Peter's pot. Above 

 half an ox, with the requisite vegetables, was boiled in it every day, 

 and distributed gratis to the poor of that district. When a couple 

 were to be married, the curate never inquired what means they had 



