As for Brussels--why, Brussels at first glance was more like a city
making a fete than the capital of a nation making war. The flags which
were displayed everywhere; the crowds in the square before the railroad
station; the multitudes of boy scouts running about; the uniforms of
Belgian volunteers and regulars; the Garde Civique, in their queer-
looking costumes, with funny little derby hats, all braid-trimmed--gave
to the place a holiday air. After nightfall, when the people of
Brussels flocked to the sidewalk cafes and sat at little round tables
under awnings, drinking light drinks a la Parisienne, this impression
was heightened.

We dined in the open air ourselves, finding the prices for food and
drink to be both moderate and modest, and able to see nothing on the
surface which suggested that the life of these people had been seriously
disturbed. Two significant facts, however, did obtrude themselves on
us: Every minute or two, as we dined, a young girl or an old gentleman
would come to us, rattling a tin receptacle with a slot in the top
through which coins for the aid of the widows and orphans of dead
soldiers might be dropped; and when a little later we rode past the
royal palace we saw that it had been converted into a big hospital for
the wounded. That night, also, the government ran away to Antwerp; but
of this we knew nothing until the following morning.

Next day we heard tales: Uhlans had been seen almost in the suburbs;
three German spies, disguised as nuns, had been captured, tried,
convicted and were no longer with us; sentries on duty outside the
residence of the American Minister had fired at a German aeroplane
darting overhead; French troops were drawing in to the northward and
English soldiers were hurrying up from the south; trainloads of wounded