was the Hospice Belle, for old female paupers of Ypres, built in the
thirteenth century. There was the Museum, formerly the Hotel
Merghelynck, not a very striking edifice, but full of antiques of all
kinds. There was the Hospital of St. John, interesting, but less
interesting than the Hospital of St. John at Bruges. There was the
Gothic Maison de Bois, right at the end of the street, with a rather
wonderful frontage. And there was the famous fourteenth-century
Steenen, which since my previous visit had been turned into the
post office. With the exception of this last building, the whole of the
Rue de Lille, if my memory is right, lay in ruins. The shattered post
office was splendidly upright, and in appearance entire; but, for all I
know, its interior may have been destroyed by a shell through the
roof. Only the acacia-trees flourished, and the flies, and the weeds
between the stones of the paving. The wind took up the dust from
the rubbish heaps which had been houses and wreathed it against
what bits of walls still maintained the perpendicular. Here, too, was
the unforgettable odour, rising through the interstices of the
smashed masonry which hid subterranean chambers.

We turned into a side-street of small houses--probably the homes of
lace-makers. The street was too humble to be a mark for the guns
of the Germans, who, no doubt, trained their artillery by the aid of a
very large scale municipal map on which every building was
separately indicated. It would seem impossible that a map of less
than a foot to a mile could enable them to produce such wonderful
results of carefully wanton destruction. And the assumption must be
that the map was obtained from the local authorities by some agent
masquerading as a citizen. I heard, indeed, that known citizens of all
the chief towns returned to their towns or to the vicinity thereof in the
uniform and with the pleasing manners of German warriors. The