sat our Belgian secretary, Monsieur Herman, and his two clerks. But
that was only the beginning of it. All day long there was a constant
stream of men, women, and children pouring into that room, bringing
letters, asking questions, always talking volubly to us and amongst
themselves. At first we thought that this extraordinary turmoil was due
to our want of space, but we soon found that it was one of the
institutions of the country. In England an official's room is the very
home of silence, and is by no means easy of access. If he is a high
official, a series of ante-rooms is interposed between his sacred
person and an inquisitive world. But in Belgium everyone walks
straight in without removing his cigar. The great man sits at his desk
surrounded by a perfect Babel, but he is always polite, always ready
to hear what you have to say and to do what he can to help. He
appears to be able to deal with half a dozen different problems at the
same time without ever being ruffled or confused. There is an
immense amount of talking and shaking of hands, and at first the
brain of a mere Englishman is apt to whirl; but the business is done
rapidly and completely. Belgium is above all things democratic, and
our office was a good introduction to it.

The common room was large and airy, overlooking the courtyard, and
a few rugs and armchairs made it a very comfortable place when the
work of the day was done. Anyone who has worked in a hospital will
know what a difference such a room makes to the work--work that
must be carried on at all hours of the day or night; nor will he need to
be told of the constant supply of tea and coffee that will be found
there. We go about telling our patients of the evils of excessive tea-
drinking, and we set them an example they would find it hard to
follow. We do not mention how often tea and a hot bath have been
our substitute for a night's sleep.' A good common room and an