Beyond Rheinberg, our prospects were extensive, but not so woody, or so rich as those of the day before, and few villages enlivened the landscape. Open corn lands, intermixed with fields of turnips, spread to a considerable distance, on both sides; on the east, the high ridges of the Westphalian mountains shut up the scene. The Rhine, which frequently swept near the road, shewed a broad surface, though shrunk within its sandy shores by the dryness of the season. Not a single vessel animated its current, which was here tame and smooth, though often interrupted by sands, that rose above its level.
[HOOGSTRASS.]
The next town was Hoogstrass, a post station, fifteen miles from Xanten, of which we saw little more than the inn, the other part of this small place being out of the road. A large house, which might have been easily made convenient, and was really not without plenty, confirmed our notion, that, at the post stages, there would always be some accommodation. We dined here, and were well attended. The landlord, a young man who had served in the army of the country, and appeared by his dress to have gained some promotion, was very industrious in the house, during this interval of his other employments.
The next stage was of eighteen miles, which make a German post and an half; and, during this space, we passed by only one town, Ordingen, or Urdingen, the greatest part of which spread between the road and the Rhine.
Towards evening, the country became more woody, and the slender spires of convents frequently appeared, sheltered in their groves and surrounded by corn lands of their own domain. One of these, nearer to the road, was a noble mansion, and, with its courts, offices and gardens, spread over a considerable space. A summer-house, built over the garden wall, had no windows towards the road, but there were several small apertures, which looked upon it and beyond to a large tract of inclosed wood, the property of the convent.
[NEUSS.]
Soon after sun-set, we came to Neuss, which, as it is a post town, and was mentioned as far off as Xanten, we had been sure would afford a comfortable lodging, whether there were any vestiges, or not, of its ancient and modern history. The view of it, at some little distance, did not altogether contradict this notion, for it stands upon a gentle ascent, and the spires of several convents might justly give ideas of a considerable town to those, who had not learned how slightly such symptoms are to be attended to in Germany.
On each side of the gate, cannon balls of various sizes remain in the walls. Within, you enter immediately into a close street of high, but dirty stone houses, from which you expect to escape presently, supposing it to be only some wretched quarter, appropriated to disease and misfortune. You see no passengers, but, at the door of every house, an haggard group of men and women stare upon you with looks of hungry rage, rather than curiosity, and their gaunt figures excite, at first, more fear than pity. Continuing to look for the better quarter, and to pass between houses, that seem to have been left after a siege and never entered since, the other gate of the town at length appears, which you would rather pass at midnight than stop at any place yet perceived. Within a small distance of the gate, there is, however, a house with a wider front, and windows of unshattered glass and walls not quite as black as the others, which is known to be the inn only because the driver stops there, for, according to the etiquette of sullenness in Germany, the people of the house make no shew of receiving you.