with rows of statues of counts and countesses of
Flanders whose very names were forgotten.

Here was one of the few remaining "Beguinages" of Flanders, which we
might have overlooked but for the kindness of a passerby who, seeing
that we were strangers, pointed out the doorway to us.

On either hand were small houses through the windows of which one could
see old women sitting bowed over cushions rapidly moving the bobbins
over the lace patterns. A heavy black door gave access to the Beguinage,
a tiny retreat, _Noye de Silence_, inaugurated, tradition says, in 1238,
by Jean de Constantinople, who gave it as a refuge for the Sisters of
St. Bogga. And here about a small grass grown square in which was a
statue of the saint, dwelt a number of self-sacrificing women, bound by
no vow, who had consecrated their lives to the care of the sick and
needy.

We spent an hour in this calm and fragrant retreat, where there was no
noise save the sweet tolling of the convent bell, and the cooing of
pigeons on the ridge pole of the chapel.

In the square before the small station was a statue, which after
questioning a number of people without result, I at length found to be
that of Jean Palfyn who, my informant assured me, was the inventor of
the forceps, and expressed surprise that I should be so interested in
statuary as to care "who it was." He asked me if I was not English and
when I answered that I was an American, looked somewhat dazed, much as
if I had said "New Zealander" or "Kamschatkan," and was about to ask me
some further question, but upon consideration thought better of it, and
turned away shrugging his shoulders.

To show how well the river Lys is loved by the people, I quote here a
sort of prose poem by a local poet, one Adolph Verriest. It is called
"Het Leielied."

"La Lys flows over the level fields of our beautiful country, its fecund
waters reflecting the blue of our wondrous Flemish landscape. Active and
diligent servant, it seems to work ever to our advantage, multiplying in
its charming sinuosities its power for contributing to our prosperity,
accomplishing our tasks, and granting our needs. It gives to our lives
ammunition and power. The noise of busy mills and the movement of bodies
of workmen in its banks is sweet music in our ears, in tune to the
rippling of its waters.

"A silver ribbon starred with the blue corn-flower, the supple textile
baptised in its soft waters is transformed by the hand of ma