s by the town at various times. These were borne proudly through
the streets, and each society had its crowd of partisans and loud
admirers. Had it not been so picturesque and strange, it would have
seemed childish and pathetic, but the people were so evidently in
earnest and seemed to enjoy it so hugely that the chance stranger could
not but enter into the spirit of it all with them. This we did and
wisely. There was much drinking of a thin sour beer called "faro," which
is very popular with the peasants, and the various societies sang
themselves hoarse, to the delight of all, including themselves. The
horse Bayard, as seen in the market place, was a great wicker affair
hung in wondrous chain armor, and the four sons of Aymon, also of
wickerwork, and likewise clad in armor, each bearing a huge sword, sat
upon his back and were trundled through the streets. There were also
booths in which the inevitable and odoriferous fritters were fried, and
some merry-go-rounds with thunderous, wheezy, groaning steam organs
splitting one's ears, and platforms upon which the peasants danced and
danced until one would have thought them fit to drop with fatigue.

It did not take long to examine the attractions most thoroughly, but
there were two very extraordinary exhibits of enormously fat women (who
are great favorites with the peasantry, and no celebration seems to be
complete without them). Their booths were placed opposite to each other,
nearly face to face, with only about forty feet between them. In this
space crowded the peasants listening open mouthed in wonder at the
vocabulary of the rival "barkers."

As usual, a shower came on during the afternoon, and the decorations
were soaked with the downpour. The wickerwork horse Bayard was left to
itself out in the square, and the wind whisked the water soaked
draperies over its head, disclosing piteously all of its poor framework.
The leaden skies showing no promise of clearing, we called the driver of
the ancient "fiacre," and after settling our score at the "Grande Hotel
Cafe Royal de la Tete d'Or," we departed for the station of the "chemin
de fer," which bumped us well but safely along the road to Antwerp.

We came again later on to this little town on the river, thinking that
we might not have done it entire justice, because of the discomfort of
the rainy day. And while we did not, it is true, find anything of great
value to record, nor anything in the way of bells to gloat ove