Ham is interesting chiefly for its ancient château. The town itself is only partially destroyed, and there are at the moment fifteen hundred and thirty civilians living there. We got out of the motor by the bank of the canal, and looked first at the havoc wrought to it and the bridges. The sides have been blown up and great masses of stone have fallen into the ditch stopping up the deepest part of it. Rude wooden bridges have been built to replace the stone ones and to carry the traffic of trucks and military cars that are constantly passing. The trees that once stood in even rows along the banks have totally disappeared. Not a stump is left. The canal widens just south of the main road, and begins to have the aspect of a stone quarry. There is a vast area of broken stone; groups of workmen applying themselves with pick and shovel; iron cars drawn by mules moving here and there; and the noise of incessant labor. Across the excavation stands a great wall, fifty feet high, split down the middle as though by a stroke of lightning. Over the top you can just see the tower, with a pointed slate roof. "But where's the château?" some one asked. "Le voilà," said our guide. Oh, the hours of labor that must be put in to restore what was once built so carefully. New trees will be planted, but the chateau can never be replaced. It's all unspeakable! Just as we turned to take the road to Nesle (I never can be reconciled to pronouncing it "Nell" in view of neslerode pudding), I saw a storm-beaten signpost reading, "Saint-Quentin, 8 kilomètres"--just as though you could go there! I wonder just how soon one would be killed if she tried it? [Illustration: A German Graveyard] As we drew near to Nesle we saw a sign by the road in English! Near a little bridge the warning, "Look Out--no truck over 17 tons," was posted. Magic language! There were only one or two Tommies about, but it was thrilling to be in a town that had been captured and occupied by the English. Along the road I had seen in several places signs reading, "Sens obligatoire"; translated literally this means "direction obligatory." We should say, "one-way street." On a house standing in the middle of a trim field was painted, "Tipperary--Sens Obligatoire!" We walked through the graveyard at Nesle, where French, English, and Germans are buried side by side. The soldiers' graves of all nations are nearly alike--plain wooden crosses bearing the name and regiment in black paint. They contrast strangely with the marble tombs and mausoleums decorated with colored bead wreaths, erected before the war. A few of the German graves are more elaborate, flamboyant even. One monument in particular was a large sculptured plaster affair, depicting a German soldier against a background of burning houses, being crowned by an angel. Across the burning village scene a scornful French hand has scratched the words, "Camelotte Boche!" (Boche rubbish!)