LIEGE.
Liege is quite metamorphosed—revolutionised—or, more properly speaking, Cockrellized—within the last twenty years. In times of war, it presented a picture of peace—and now, in times of peace, it exhibits the bustle of war. It is no longer the quiet abode of burghers, as in the days of Quentin Durward! In every direction you observe tall chimnies belching forth volumes of dense smoke—forges roaring—steam-engines sobbing hammers clattering—and files grating—all in the preparation and construction of various kinds of destructive weapons, from a 42-pounder to a pitchfork! Liege, in fact, is now the Brumagem of Belgium, and can rival the great British manufactory of metals in no small degree. Musket-barrels can be procured at Liege for three shillings each! Let England look to her corn-laws! The “factory system” has not greatly improved the manners, habits, or morals of Liege. Those who have not visited this place for ten or fifteen years are astonished at the difference among the lower order of the people.
The country around Liege, and between that city and Aix and Spa, is magnificent—equal in beauty, cultivation, and fertility, to the finest parts of Devonshire—or indeed of any other shire in England. Unlike France and many parts of the Continent, the country here is spangled with handsome villas and neat cottages in every direction.