ts ruin. Few such wonderfully majestic specimens of
architecture as this ancient monument of the weavers of Ypres have
come down to us through the ages. On the great square in the heart of
the city it stood, nearly 500 feet long and half as wide. The walls
were yet fairly intact, also the main square tower in the centre and
the graceful pointed turrets at each corner. Most of the roof was
gone, but enough remained to show that it had been very high-pitched,
and that the proportions of the building must have been perfect. The
interior was a mass of rubble; here and there direct hits had blown
holes in the wonderfully carved walls, and some of the statues of the
famous men of the ancient city had been tumbled from their niches
between the third tier of windows. None of the woodwork of the famous
painted panels of the interior remained; it had all been destroyed by
fire from the incendiary shells of the apostles of culture.

I stood and gazed, quite carried away by the beauty of even the
fragments of the magnificent bit of Gothic architecture, and with
indignation at its destruction. The warm spring sun of midday played
about its columns, making heavy shadows under the windows and ruined
arches; soldiers crossed the square and stood about as if they were a
thousand miles from the German lines. Several officers could be seen
wandering about studying the ruins; two of them I knew and they came
over to shake hands. I asked where I could get some dinner, and was
directed to the only decent restaurant left in the town, located just
beyond the Cloth Hall on the square.

As we stopped at the door of the estaminet Lt.-Col. (Canon) Frederick
Scott, one of our Canadian poets, came by and stopped for a chat. I
had not seen him since the memorable days of Salisbury Plain, and he
was full of his experiences as a regimental chaplain. He drew from his
pocket the manuscript of a newly-written poem and, oblivious of his
surroundings, stood by the car and recited it to me.

The little restaurant was well filled with officers even at this late
lunching hour of two o'clock. It had been a millinery store, but
latterly there had been little sale for millinery and there had been a
great demand for food; the three pretty Flemish sisters who owned the
shop had therefore accommodated themselves to the situation and now
served most excellent food daintily on clean tables, though not with
great despatch. At any rate, my omelette, cheese, toast and