rarely sees the light, when the bonds of civilization are broken it rises up and dominates.  And who shall say that it is not right?  There are things in Belgium for which blood alone can atone.  Woe to us if when our interests are satisfied we sheath the sword, and forget the ruined homes, the murdered children of Belgium, the desecrated altars of the God in whose name we fight!  He has placed the sword in our hands for vengeance, and not for peace.

I no longer wonder at the dogged courage of the Belgian soldiers, at their steady disregard of their lives, when I think of the many such pictures of wanton outrage which are burned into their memories, and which can never be effaced so long as a single German remains in their beloved land.  I no longer wonder, but I do not cease to admire.  Let anyone who from the depths of an armchair at home thinks that I have spoken too strongly, stimulate his imagination to the pitch of visualizing the town in which he lives destroyed, his own house a smoking heap, his wife profaned, his children murdered, and himself ruined, for these are the things of which we know.  Then, and then only, will he be able to judge the bravery of the nation which, preferring death to dishonour, has in all likelihood saved both France and ourselves from sharing its terrible but glorious fate.

VII.  Malines

We were frequently requested by the Belgian doctors to assist them in the various Red Cross dressing-stations around Antwerp, and it was our custom to visit several of these stations each day to give what assistance we could.  One of the most important of the stations was at Malines, and one of our cars called there every day.  I went out there myself on an afternoon late in September.  It was a glorious day, and after a heavy morning in the wards the fresh breeze and the brilliant sunshine were delightful.  Our road led almost straight south through Vieux Dieu and Contich, crossing the little River Nethe at Waelhem.  The Nethe encircles Antwerp on the south and south-east, and it was here that the Belgians, and in the end the British, made their chief stand against the Germans.  We crossed the bridge, and passed on to Malines under the guns of Fort Waelhem, with the great fortress of Wavre St. Catharine standing away to the left, impregnable to anything but the huge guns of to-day.

Malines is a large town of 60,000 inhabitants, and is the cathedral city of the Archbishop of Belgium, the brave Cardinal Mercier.  To-day it is important as a railway centre, and for its extensive railway workshops, but the interest of the town lies in the past.  It was of importance as early as the eighth century, and since then it has changed hands on an amazing number of occasions.  Yet it is said that few of the cities of Europe contain so many fine old houses in such good preservation.  The cathedral church of St. Rombold dates back to the thirteenth century, and in the fifteenth century was begun the