The great show place of Ostende is, of course, the Kursaal, a huge structure of glass, iron and stone belonging to no particular school of architecture, but in the main making a pleasing impression and serving very well indeed for the somewhat diversified uses for which it is intended. In the daytime the Kursaal is a place of relatively little interest, although well-dressed people flock through it at all hours. At night it is the scene of much animation, and is, as it was meant to be, the centre of the gay life of the town. A large orchestra gives a concert every evening in a very pretty concert hall, which, when we were there, contained numerous little tables for refreshments, although I have seen pictures in which the room was filled with seats in solid rows, like a theatre. It was much more comfortable the way we found it, and the concert was very enjoyable. At the intermission, however, we observed that nearly everybody rose and flocked off into an anteroom leading out of the concert hall. The Professor and I decided that there appeared to be "something doing" in that direction and followed the crowd, leaving the ladies to look after our wraps, and promising to return and get them if we found anything worth while. I fear that the narrative of our experience may sound a bit like an extract from _Innocents Abroad_, but I will relate the thing as it happened and make no pretence that we were a bit more sophisticated than we really were. The crowd seemed to be headed through a long and handsome corridor toward a distant room. We followed along, passing on the way what looked more or less like the office of a hotel, with a register book and two or three clerks, to which we paid no attention. Arrived at the end of the corridor we found ourselves in a large circular room around which were a number of small tables on which visitors were rolling balls down toward a group of pockets--some such a game as one sees at Coney Island or any popular American amusement resort. The price was two francs for three shots, and barkers were shouting lustily to all comers to try their luck. On one side a doorway was heavily curtained with velvet draperies and here occasional groups of the guests were silently disappearing. We approached this mysterious passageway and sought to pass like the others when two tiny lads in brilliant livery demanded our cards. On our replying that we had none, a large man, also in livery, appeared from somewhere behind the draperies and courteously informed us that special membership or admission cards were required from all who wished to proceed further.