mping and rolling on poor
roads had made to us torture-chambers. How gladly would we have
strolled through its streets gazing on the pretty girls and gaping at
the novelty of its quaint buildings and the unusual ware in its
shop-windows.

[Illustration: My Own Comrades Waiting For Buses.]

Later on I was a week in the hospital here with a sprained ankle, and I
had a chance to explore this lovely city of Picardy. Its cathedral was
a never-ending source of interest, and not a day passed during my stay
that I did not hobble on crutches through its dim aisles and worship
the beauty of its statues. There is one statue called "The Weeping
Angel" which is world-famous, and I have gazed at it for hours, feeling
its beauty steal over me like a psalm. There was always music stealing
gently through the air, but like a blow in the face were the walls of
sandbags protecting the carving on the choir-stalls and the thousands
of statues on the huge doors. The grotesque hideousness of the
gargoyles gave a touch of humor that was not incongruous to religion,
but these sand-bags were such an eye-sore against the beauty of the
carved poems that suggested what an intrusion into God's fair world is
the horror of war.

Several times while I was in Amiens the German aeroplanes came over and
bombed the city. Opposite the hospital a three-story house collapsed
like a pack of cards, burying seventeen people in its ruins. I saw a
French airman bring down one boche by a clever feat. He evidently
could not aim upward to his satisfaction, so he turned upside down, and
while flying thus, brought down his opponent.

Through Amiens the buses carried us within a few miles of Albert, which
was within range of the German artillery. It is in Albert that the
remarkable "hanging Virgin" is to be seen. The cathedral and tower
have been almost practically destroyed, but still on top of the tower
remains uninjured the figure of the Virgin and Child. A shell has
struck its base, and over the town at right angles to the tower leans
the Virgin imploringly holding the babe outstretched as though she were
supplicating its protection. The French people say that the statue
will fall when the war ends, but some materialistic British engineers,
fearing the danger to life in its fall, have shored and braced it up.

This is similar to the miracles of the crucifixes that are found
standing unharmed amid scenes of desolation. I have seen several of
them wi