He is the watchman, and is forced to pull upon a rope every seven minutes before the bells sound. I shall not forget the fright he gave me when fancying myself alone in the tower I was examining the carillon, and he thrust his huge red, hairy face between the two bells under which I groped, and stood there staring while I froze with horror, while the bells row upon row, above and about us, clashed and clanged and boomed, swinging as if they would the next minute fall upon us and crush us. Thus he stood in this turmoil of din and roar and finally when it ended he demanded--in the mousiest squeak of a voice imaginable, a small fee for beer money." These bell-ringers have appealed to other imaginations, too. Poe might well have had in mind the Belfry in Bruges when he wrote: "And the people--ah, the people, They that dwell up in the steeple All alone, And who, tolling, tolling, tolling, In that muffled undertone, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone-- They are neither man nor woman-- They are neither brute nor human-- They are Ghouls: And their king it is who tolls." In Ostend we found a watering place which during the last generation has more than doubled its population and become wealthy and important. This change was due to the efforts of the old King, who saw the possibilities of his sandy sea-coast if pleasure seekers could be induced to come in sufficient numbers. His dream was to build a road from one end of the shore to the other which should be one long, continuous summer resort. At tremendous cost of money and labour strong sea-walls were built to protect the shifting dunes, and sections of the road as well. Hotels and casinos and villas sprang up all along the shore, among them the villa of the old King himself. In the time of Charlemagne Ostend was a fishing village, but only yesterday it was the Continental ideal of what a bathing place should be. The Digue, that famous walk by the sea, was thronged with an endless variety of men and women, of all nationalities and styles of raiment. Thousands sat and watched them drift by. The heavy bathing machines--a city in themselves--went lumbering into the water, all so gay in pink and green and blue paint. Absurd looking old people were wading and children played everywhere in the sand. It was indeed a passing show. The weather was warm when we were there, and we saw the place at its best. Each night we dined inside the glassed-in terrace of the hotel, with gay people all about us and the crowds passing up and down, outside. Then we went over to the Casino, a vast amphitheater where the orchestra played and throngs sat listening till the dancing began at half after ten.