healed by the skill of her Generals. A white city of desolation,
scorched and battered, yet the brightest jewel in the crown of France's
glory; a shining example to the world of the triumph of human resistance
and the courage of men. A city of strange and cruel sounds--the short,
sharp bark of the '75's, the boom of the death-dealing enemy guns, the
shrieks of the shells and the fall of masonry parting from houses to
which it had been attached for centuries, whilst from the shattered
window-frames the familiar sprite of the household looked ever for the
children who came no longer across the thresholds of the homes. Verdun
is no longer a refuge for all that is good and beautiful and tender, and
so the sounds of the voices of children and of birds are heard no more.
Both have flown; the children were evacuated with the civilians in the
bitter months of February and March, and the birds, realising that there
is no secure place in which to nest, have deserted not only Verdun but
the whole of the surrounding district.

We proceeded to a terrace overlooking the lower part of the town and
witnessed a duel between the French and German artillery. The Germans
were bombarding the barracks of Chevert, and from all around the French
guns were replying. It was certainly a joy to note that for one boom of
a German cannon there were certainly ten answers from the French guns.
The French soldiers off duty should have been resting in the caves and
dug-outs which have been prepared for them, but most of them were out on
the terraces in different parts of the city, smoking and casually
watching the effect of the German or of their own fire. I inquired of
one _poilu_ whether he would be glad to leave Verdun, and he laughingly
replied: "One might be worse off than here. This is the time of year
that in peace times I should have been staying in the country with my
mother-in-law."