tin boxes, in which the products of the factory had, I suppose, been
packed. A large pile of glass stoppers in one corner was fused up into
a solid mass, and I chipped a bit off as a memento.

In the Square in front of the church of Notre Dame the German
soldiers had evidently celebrated their achievement by a revel. In the
centre were the remains of a bonfire, and all around were broken
bottles and packs of cheap cards in confusion. Think of the scene. A
blazing town around them, and every now and then the crash of
falling buildings; behind them Notre Dame in flames towering up to
heaven; the ancient Town Hall and the Guard House burning across
the Square; and in the centre a crowd of drunken soldiers round a
bonfire, playing cards. And miles away across the fields ten thousand
homeless wanderers watching the destruction of all for which they
had spent their lives in toil.

Of the ancient church of Notre Dame only the walls remained. The
roof had fallen, all the woodwork had perished in the flames, and the
stonework was calcined by the heat. Above the arch of a door was a
little row of angels' heads carved in stone, but when we touched them
they fell to powder. The heat inside must have been terrific, for all the
features of the church had disappeared, and we were surrounded by
merely a mass of debris. In the apse a few fragments of old gold
brocade buried beneath masses of brick and mortar were all that
remained to show where the altar had been.

The Town Hall was once a beautiful gabled building with a tall square
tower ending in four little turrets. I have a drawing of it, and it must
have formed quite a pleasing picture, the entrance reached by the
double flight of steps of which Belgium is so fond, and from which