Since this chapter was written the ill-fated city of Malines has been swept with shot and shell for many days together, its once happy and prosperous inhabitants driven far and wide--many of them into foreign lands--and it is doubtful if a single one of the various ancient edifices which we visited last June has escaped injury. Notwithstanding these sad facts it has seemed best to retain the chapter substantially as it was written, inasmuch as it affords a pen picture of the old town as it looked on the very eve of its destruction. Let us hope that when the war is over it will be found that most, if not all, of its famous old structures can be restored again. As the scene of some of the most stubborn conflicts of the great war, it is likely that the city will be more generally visited by tourists than was the case when its architectural and artistic treasures were uninjured, save by the gentle hand of time. To those who thus visit it the following account of the Malines that was may prove interesting. Situated midway between Antwerp and Brussels, on a route formerly traversed by scores of _rapides_ every day, the ancient city of Malines--which is the French spelling, the Flemish being Mechelen--was exceptionally easy to visit, yet during the three days that we spent wandering along its entrancing old quays and streets and inspecting its many "monuments" we saw not a single tourist. This was the more remarkable because Malines is not only one of the very oldest cities in Northern Europe, but was for centuries among the most famous. For a considerable period it was the capital of all the Netherlands, and it is still the religious capital of Belgium--the archbishop of its cathedral church exercising authority over the bishops of Bruges, Ghent, Liége, Namur and Tournai.