I know of one little ‘épicerie’ which does a roaring trade in a house that has no roof and practically only three walls. The place has been made more or less weatherproof with some pieces of tin and a few planks. The rest of the village has been smashed to pieces. The neighbourhood is shelled almost daily, and whenever I pass I look, not without anxiety, to see if the plucky old lady’s sign is still there. At the ruined railway station of a certain town near the line the notice—‘BILLETS’—still stands over the shattered booking office, and, sure enough, if you hunt around among the débris you will find tickets to Charing Cross! At another station a few miles away and also within sight of the German trenches the door labelled—‘SORTIE’—is barred with wreckage and is about the only part of the building you can _not_ walk in and out of at will! Not very far away some of my own unit were once billeted in part of what was once a French Barracks, and it was here that I was shown some inscriptions of quite historical interest. On the ground floor the walls bear the initials and names of ‘regular,’ ‘terrier,’ and K.’s army, together with those of many a French poilu. The top storey has been smashed in by a 15-centimetre shell, but the stonework round the windows remains, and there, cut in the limestone, are to be found records of British soldiers who had tenanted those rooms under very different circumstances! J. JEMISON, PRISONER OF WAR—TAKEN AUGUST 1806—ALDERSON—ELLIS—WHEATLEY P. of W. 1806, 07, 08, 09, 10. Rather a long spell! but, knowing our French friends as we do now, we can be sure their imprisonment was not wholly unpleasant. Some of the most incongruous of signs are the ordinary hand-posts at cross roads indicating the way to places over ‘the other side.’ I seldom pass one of these plain iron signs without thinking of the strange contrast between the life now and that of three years ago. An arrow points towards a straight white road leading over the hill—BAPAUME X KILOMÈTRES. Not so very far either and yet no man on earth could get there!—though a whole army can, and will in time. Over the crest the smooth surface is cut by innumerable trenches and barred with wire entanglements. Even here, at the cross roads, though well out of view, it is unwise to linger—the Huns have a machine-gun trained down the road and open indirect fire at intervals. On first coming to the front it is curious to see an immortal name like Neuve Chapelle displayed on an ordinary everyday signpost—what would an American souvenir hunter give for such a relic!