n of the
Holy Bible, which was preserved in the Museum of Brussels, together with
other fine specimens of his skill. A very good statue in bronze to this
master printer was in the center of the market place, and on the
occasion of my last visit, there was a sort of carnival in the town,
with a great gathering of farmers and merchants and their families from
the surrounding country all gathered about the square, which was filled
with wagons, horses, booths, and merry-go-rounds, above which the statue
of the old master printer appeared in great dignity. There was a great
consumption of beer and waffles at the small _estaminets_, and the
chimes in the belfry played popular songs at intervals to the delight of
these simple happy people, all unaware of the great catastrophe of the
war into which they were about to be plunged.

A disastrous conflagration destroyed most of Alost in 1360, and
thereafter history deals with the fury of the religious wars conducted
by the Spanish against Alost, a most strongly fortified town. The story
of the uniting of these Spanish troops under the leadership of Juan de
Navarese is well known. Burning and sacking and murder were the sad lot
of Alost and its unfortunate citizens, who had hardly recovered, ere the
Duke d'Alencon arrived before the walls with his troops, bent upon
mischief. The few people remaining after his onslaught died like flies
during the plague which broke out the following year, and the town bid
fair to vanish forever.

Rubens painted a large and important picture based upon the destruction
of Alost, and this work was hanging in the old church of St. Martin just
before the outbreak of the war in 1914. Its fate is problematical, for
St. Martin's Church was razed to the ground in the bombardment in
1914-15, the charge being the usual one that the tower was used for
military purposes by the French.

This old church with its curious bulbous tower cap was at the end of a
small street, and my last view of it was on the occasion of a church
fete in which some dignitaries were present, for I saw them all clad in
scarlet and purple walking beneath silken canopies attended by priests
bearing lighted lanterns (although the sun was shining brightly at the
time) and acolytes swinging fragrant smoking censers. We were directed
to a rather shabby looking hostelry, over the door of which was an
emblazoned coat of arms of Flanders, where we were assured we could get
"dejeuner" before lea