"They shook the foot of Spain from their necks," and when they were not fighting men they fought the waters. Truly the history of their struggles is a wondrous one! None of these was in sight, however, as we strolled the streets, but we did disturb the chat or gossip of two delightful, apple cheeked old ladies in white caps, who became dumb with astonishment at the sight of two foreigners who walked about gazing up at the roofs and windows of the houses, and at the mynheer in knickerbockers who was always looking about him and writing in a little book. One cannot blame them for being so dumbfounded at such actions, such _incomprehensible_ disturbing actions in a somnolent town of long ago. In the vestibule of the dark dim old church, I copied the following inscription from a wall. It sounds something like English gone quite mad--and the last line, it seems to me, runs rather trippingly--and contains something of an idea too, whatever it means: "Al wat er is. Mijn hoop is Christus en zyn bloed. Door deze leer ik en hoop door die het eenwig goed. Ons leven is maar eenen dag, vol ziekten en vol naar geklag. Vol rampen dampen (!) en vendriet. Een schim Eien droom en anders niet." A small steamer had advertised to leave for Antwerp about 3 o'clock. It lay puffing and wheezing at the side of the stream, and we went on board and settled ourselves comfortably, tired out with our wanderings. Here a bevy of children discovered us and ranged themselves along the dyke to watch our movements, exploding with laughter whenever we addressed one another. Finally an oily hand appeared at the hatchway of the engine room, followed by the touseled yellow head of a heavily bearded man. He looked at us searchingly, then at the line of tormenting children. Then he seized a long pole and advanced threateningly upon the phalanx. They fled incontinently out of reach, calling out various expletives in Flemish--of which I distinguished only one, "Koek bakker"! This would seem to be the crowning insult to cast at a respectable engineer, for he shook his fist at them. To our amazement he then touched his greasy cap to us, and in the broadest possible Scotch dialect bade us welcome. There is a saying that one has only to knock on the companion ladder of any engine room in any port the world over, and call out "Sandy" to bring up in response one or two canny Scots from the engine room below. This little steamer evidently took the place of the carrier's cart used elsewhere; for passengers and parcels, as well as crates of vegetables were her cargo. At length we started puffing along the river, and stopping from time to time at small landings leading to villages whose roofs appeared above the banks and dykes.