tle cemetery!
Here a khaki cap and a bunch of dead flowers, there a cross erected to
"An unknown British hero, found near Verbrandenmolen and buried here on
March 3rd, 1915," there an empty shell case balanced at a comical angle
on a grave, and everywhere between the mounds waved the flowers in the
fresh breeze of the morning, while away in the distance loomed the tower
of the Cloth Hall of Ypres, like a gigantic arm pointing one finger up
to heaven.

The Chateau itself, I have said, had never had a direct hit; but do you
think the hand of war had passed it by, and that the little old lady
would find in it something of home?

Every window on the ground floor had been choked by sandbags, and no
glass remained in those upstairs. In a room that had once been a kitchen
and was now labelled in chalk "Officers' Mess" were an old bedstead, two
mattresses, a wooden table, and three rickety chairs; but for these, and
a piano in the dining-room upstairs, the house was absolutely devoid of
furniture. Even the piano, which must have twanged out the tunes of at
least three nations since the war began, had sacrificed its cover for
firewood.

Rooms where once ladies had powdered and perfumed themselves to attract
the fickle male were now bare and empty, and pungent with the smell of
chloride of lime. In the dining-hall, where fine old wines had
circulated, were a hundred weary, dirty men. In the kitchen, where the
fat _cuisiniere_ had prepared her dinners, were now a dozen officers,
some sprawling asleep on the floor, some squatting round the table
playing "vingt-et-un."

For this is war.

* * * * *

There is one more memory of Ypres--a very different one--that comes back
to me. It is the recollection of our regimental dinner.

The first thing that I heard of it came from Lytton's servant.

"Please, sir," he said one morning, "Mr. Lytton sends his compliments,
and can you tell 'im where the Hotel Delepiroyle is?"

"The Hotel de what?"

"The Hotel Delepiroyle, sir. That's what 'e said."

"Ask Mr. Lytton to write it down--no, wait a minute. Tell him I'm coming
over to see him about it." So I strolled across to the other side of the
infantry barracks to find him.

"What, haven't you heard about it?" asked Lytton. "The new C.O., Major
Eadie, is giving a dinner to-night to all the officers of the regiment
as a farewell to Major Barton before he goes off to take command of his
new crowd. It's a