d which must have cost a huge sum. It was of a
genteel Italian aspect, so it is plain that French local
administrators are, in matters of taste, pretty much as such folk are
with us. One could have lingered long here, looking at this charming
and graceful work, which its surroundings became quite as much as it
did its surroundings.

While thus engaged it was curious to find that not a soul crossed the
_place_. Indeed, during my whole sojourn in the town, a period of
about half an hour, I did not see above a dozen people. There were but
few shops; yet all was bright, sound, in good condition. There was no
sign of decay or decaying; but all seemed to sleep. It was a French
'dead city.' But it surely lives and will live, by its remarkable bell
tower, which at this moment is chiming away, with a melodious
huskiness, its gay tunes, repeated every quarter of an hour, while as
the hour comes round there breaks out a general and clamorous
_charivari_.

XI.

_ST. OMER._

After leaving this wonderful place, I was now speeding on once more
back into France. In all these shifts and changes the _douanier_ farce
was carefully gone through. I was regularly invited to descend, even
though baggageless, and to pass through the searching-room, making
heroic protest as I did so that '_I had nothing to declare_.' It was
easy to distinguish the two nations in their fashion of performing
this function, the French taking it _au serieux_, and going through it
histrionically, as it were; the Belgian being more careless and
good-natured. There lingers still the habit of 'leading' or
_plombe_-ing a clumsy, troublesome relic of old times. Such small
articles as hat-cases, hand-bags, etc., are subjected to it; an
officer devoted to the duty comes with a huge pair of 'pincers' with
some neat little leaden discs, which he squeezes on the strings which
have tied up the article.

Now we fly past the flourishing Poperinghe--a bustling, thriving
place, out of which lift themselves with sad solemnity a few tall
iron-gray churches, and another--yet one more--elegant belfry. There
seems something quaint in the name of Poperinghe, though it is hardly
so grotesque as that of another town I passed by, 'Bully Greny.'

As this long day was at last closing in, I noticed from the window a
bright-looking town nestling, as it were, in rich green velvet and
dark plantation, with a bright, snug-looking gate, drawbridge, etc.
One of these gates was piqu