t of great picturesqueness, even to the non-participant;
the bent heads of the multitude; the long lines of kneeling black
figures; scarlet and gold and lace of the priests' robes against the
black note of the nuns' somber draperies; the white coifs and veils,
through which the sweet rapture of young religious awe made even homely
features seem beautiful: the gold and scarlet again of the choristers;
and finally, that culminating note of splendor beneath the silken canopy
of the cardinal archbishop (Cardinal Mercier) enthroned here like some
ancient venerated monarch; all this against the neutral gray and black
lines of the townspeople; surely this was the psychological moment in
which to leave Oudenaarde, that I might retain such a picture in my
mind's eye.

Furnes

Furnes

The old red brick, flat topped, tower of St. Nicholas was the magnet
which drew us to this dear sleepy old town, in the southwest corner of
the Belgian littoral; and here, lodged in the historic hostel of the
"Nobele Rose" we spent some golden days. The name of the town is
variously pronounced by the people Foorn, Fern, and even Fearn. I doubt
if many travelers in the Netherlands ever heard of it. Yet the town is
one of great antiquity and renown, its origin lost in the dimness of the
ages.

According to the chronicles in the great Library at Bruges, as early as
A.D. 800 it was the theatre of invasions and massacres by the Normans.
That learned student of Flemish history, M. Leopold Plettinck, has made
exhaustive researches among the archives in both Brussels and Bruges,
and while he has been unable to trace its beginnings he has collected
and assorted an immense amount of detailed matter referring to Baudoin
(or Baldwin) Bras de Fer, who seems to have been very active in
harassing the people who had the misfortune to come under his hand.

The War of the "Deux Roses" was fought outside the walls here, likewise
the Battle of the Spurs took place on the plains between Furnes and
Ypres. Following the long undulations of the dunes from Dunkerque,
overgrown here and there with a rank coarse grass sown by the
authorities to protect them from the wind and the encroachments of the
ever menacing sea, dune succeeds dune, forming a landscape of most
unique character. Passing the small hamlet of Zuitcote, marked by the
sunken tower of its small church, which now serves as a sort of
semaphore for the fishing boats off the coast, one reached t