Atlanta semi-weekly journal. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1898-1920, 1918-02-26
CONTINUED From Last Issue)


And so the season ends, and it is
June; the captains and the kings de-
part; the princess and the dukes, the
counties and the barons follow to their
chateaux in the country, if they had
chateaux, or to their various cures, or,
If they remained at home they closed
their houses. And If through those
charming narrow old streets that wind
and twist and turn in the lower town.
the people swarmed and life went on in
all its essentials as it had done for
eleven centuries. the Quarter Leopold
was silent and deserted, the heavy
shutters were up at all it's windows
| the white facades stared purblindly in
the summer sun, now and then an old
| tacre with a prodigious clatter rattleo
over cobble stones, and only servants
went in and out of the great doors.
And Brussels settled down to it's
long summer somnolence. One awoke
in the morning to the strange cries of
the vendors, in Flemish. 1 can hear
even now the ''Voden en- Benen" of the
| woman who punctually wheeled her
cart down the rue de Treves just as
| Colette was bringing up our tea and
toast, which we had at an open window
whence over the tiled roofs across the
way there was a glimpse of the qua
driga on the arch of the Cinquantenaire
and the waving leaves of the trees in
the Pare Leopold. The stout dogs Of
Flanders their tongues lolling, patient,
ly dragged their carts with the FURNISH
ed milk cans through the streets. "Ce
gull a de Chen" that which is best
in man, that is the dog" the French
say, and Brussels is, or was, full Of
dogs; every family has two or three
the big dogs that pull the carts, and
the amusing little griffons and Braban-
cons, and the sharp-nosed, black little
skipperkee, who lost their tails, as the
legend has it, sitting on the decks Of
the canal boats. "Skipperke" means in
Flemish little skipper" the Ike" be-
ing the Flemish diminutive that is add
ed on all occasions to every endearing
name or epithet.
In those mornings the ministries over
In the Rue de la Loi were dim and cool
and half deserted, and the relation be-
tween Belgium and America so excel
lent that there was not often much TO
be discussed. Promptly at noon the
rumble of the city ceased and every
one in town went home for luncheon
and remained until 2, and for two hours
the town was as still as though it had
been deserted Late in the afternoon
every one went for a stroll along the
boulevards and out the Avenue Louis,
or drove-if he had a Vehicle-through
the Lois de la Cambre, the loveliest of
woods. Or one could go to the Pare and
hear the music given there at by one
or other of the military bands that
played every afternoon.
/ am conscious that / write with an
enthusiasm that is not la mode in u
too sophisticated world, but l own with
out shame that long before l went there
to live l fell subject to the strange
charm of Brussels. Nothing, for in
stance, irritated me more than to hear
that old and oft-repeated cliche of in
corrigible banality to the effect that:
Brussels is a little Paris To the tour
list gaping at Ste. Gudule, or in the
Grand Place, Baedeker in hand, perhaps,
yes; but tourists seldom see anything
they might as well read their Baedekers
at home. One does not know a city
merely because one has visited it and
seen it's principal sights. l recall often,
and l recall now, with the pang that
there is in the thought, that he is OF
this world no more, with gayety and his
Irish wit-he fell at the Dardanelles--
a remark made to me once by Tom Ket-
tie, one of the brilliant young Irish
members of the house of parliament. II
was years ago at Dublin. We were
speaking of the old towns peculiar
charm, and Kettle, with his amused, toll
Grant and somewhat proprietary love or