The herald., 1920-10-21

lore, Slanu Dllnucu duu utSl-
tate. What shall | choose in
this bouquet, over rich in its minglinS
Of brilliant CoIOrs and tender hueS?
Shall IT be pearls of sacred miStl1toe
fallen beneath the Druid's knife; lilies
grown in the shadow of converts and
nOnaSterieS; roses Redeemed with the
blood of Journeys and the carnage Of
battle; or, perchanCe, pale daisies Of
the fields sprung up unhecded amid
the COW pasture? All equally are
precious. writes Louis LagaSSe de
Lorht in the London Times. Daugh-
ters OF a fertile land scared in the
course Of ages by storms let loose
from the four corners Of the earth
are they not the expression, the poet
ry, the sap Of love and hate, the very
Soul, in a word, of people fashioned
d. martial blows and bathed in the
sunshine of idealiSm?
Every Belgian is thrilled by the
past. 1t is his staff and bread of
life. Hence his love of Cavalcades,
Joyous entries and professions. the
ever recurring delight of most of our
villages. Great taste Is often display
I'd In the ordering of these paradeS, in
the building Of the triumph-tO which
Rubens and JOrdaenS did not scorn to
devote their talent. And il is as il
the figures of legend and history which
pass through our streets had stepped
down from the canvas of old master
pieces to be closer to the CareSseS Of
he crowds.
Sometimes the ceremony represents
but an episode, a scene of Chivalry or
Of mystery from the middle ages. In
Bruges. suddenly awakened from it's
melancholy miracle Of the holy blood,
the triumphal escort of a prince con-
secrated to the conquest of the holy
land moves in rolling stream of
glistening steel amid the glamOr Of
rich silks and precious broideries, the
FLASHING Of arms and the embrazen
peal of trumpets.
Supreme Drama Of All Time.
At Fumes, on the last Sunday In
enacts the supreme drama of all time.
For weeks the city prepares for it.
The actors parts are more coveted
than public honOrs; some are jealous
~ guarded as hereditary rights.
Through the dense crowd, pressing
ever closer and closer. the revered fig
ureS pass in procession. And the
Christ appears. weighted down by his
cross, living and staggering Christ,
ScOurged till the blood runs from him.
A shiver of religious fervOr passes
over the faithful. Mercy" penitent
cries aloud in pain. Every window is
garden of tapers. candles and lights
whose flames flicker in the wind blow
Ing from the sea. Sacred chants min
gle with the piping of reeds, the noise
Of rattles and the winding of horns.
The crowd sobs and sways and wrings
its hands and falls into prayer as,
following the Crucitied one. the peni-
tents pass. The men In sackcloth and
and their naked, torn feet bleed on the
stones OF the road. Perchance beneath
their cloaks Of burlsp noble ladies'
whose flaxen hair and white bodies
are the love treasures OF this sensu
Gus and mystic Flanders, are paying
!. the ransom Of a kiss
~ Mons, the home Of the guardian
saint Of the British army, is the the
alter every year Of the famous Lume
con display which ends the procession
OF Ste. Waudru. At midday to the
tolling of the great bell, otherwis,
heard only as war alarm, st. George
gives battle to the dragon. After 8
deadly combat, the dragon, according
to rite. crashes down in the dust, shot
through the nostrils, and the devil:
are chastised by the brave followers
Of the victorious knight. Before en-
tering the lists the tabled beast
hays the crowd with mighty blows Of
his tail. The people of Mons believe
that blow from The tail brings