At Roosendal, about an hour's railway journey from Antwerp, the boundary between Belgium and Holland is crossed, and a branch line diverges to Breda. Somehow, like most travellers, we could not help expecting to see some marked change on reaching a new country, and in Holland one could not repress the expectation of beginning at once to see the pictures of Teniers and Gerard Dou in real life. We were certainly disappointed at first. Open heaths were succeeded by woods of stunted firs, and then by fields with thick hedges of beech or alder, till the towers of Breda came in sight. Here a commonplace omnibus took us to the comfortable inn of Zum Kroon, and we were shown into bedrooms reached by an open wooden staircase from the courtyard, and quickly joined the table d'hôte, at which the magnates of the town were seated with napkins well tucked up under their chins, talking, with full mouths, in Dutch, of which to our unaccustomed ears the words seemed all in one string. Most excellent was the dinner—roast meat and pears, quantities of delicious vegetables cooked in different ways, piles of ripe mulberries and cake, and across the little garden, with its statues and bright flower-beds, we could see the red sails of the barges going up and down the canals. As soon as dinner was over, we sallied forth to see the town, which impressed us more than any Dutch city did afterwards, perhaps because it was the first we saw. The winding streets—one of them ending in a high windmill—are lined with houses wonderfully varied in outline, and of every shade of delicate colour, yellow, grey, or brown, though the windows always have white frames and bars. Passing through a low archway under one of the houses, we found ourselves, when we least expected it, in the public garden, a kind of wood where the trees have killed all the grass, surrounded by canals, beyond one of which is a great square château built by William III. of England, encircled by the Merk, and enclosing an arcaded court. There was an older château of 1350 at Breda, but we failed to find it.

A drive across a dull, marshy plain brings one to a delightfully wild district of downs... amid which three great tumuli, standing close together, are said to mark the graves of Odin, Thor, and Freya...-from "In Sweden"English aristocrat Augustus J.C. Hare filled his days with trips to the Continent, and returned home to share his journeys with eager readers-and the journals of his travels still enjoy a cultishly devoted readership today. Here, in this 1884 publication, Hare waxes lyrical on a trek through Holland, Denmark, Sweden, and Norway, describing: low-lying Holland's battles with the sea and its effect on the landscape the one spot in Denmark's capital, Copenhagen, no visitor should miss the glorious view of the Baltic ford from Stockholm's grand hotels which structure in Norway, is one of the most beautiful in the world.Charmingly told and often rhapsodically enthusiastic, this travelogue continues to delight today's armchair explorers.British travel writer AUGUSTUS JOHN CULBERT HARE (1834-1903) also wrote Epitaphs for Country Churchyards (1856), Walks in Rome (1871), and Wanderings in Spain (1873).