I have seen many
cities of the world. I have seen the beauties of Westminster Abbey, the Law
Courts; I have seen the tropical wonders of the West Indies; I have seen
the marvels of the Canadian Rockies, but I have never seen greater beauty
of architecture and form than in the city of Ypres. There was the Cloth
Hall, La Salle des Draperies with its massive pillars, its delicate
traceries, its Gothic windows and its air of age-long gray-toned serenity.
There was Ypres Cathedral! A place of silence that breathed of Heaven
itself. There was its superb bell tower, and its peal of silver-tongued
chimes. There were wonderful Old World houses, quaint steps and turns and
alleys. It was a city of delight, a city that charmed and awed by its
impressive grandeur.
Now the city was massed with refugees from the ravaged parts of Belgium. In
peace times possibly the population would have numbered thirty-five to
forty thousand, at this time it seemed that sixty thousand souls were
crowded into the city limits. Every house, every _estaminet_, every barn,
every stable was filled to its capacity with folk who had fled in despair
before the cloven hoof of the advancing Hun.
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