New Year's Day, 1918.

To E. E. S.

This is New Year's Day and I am sorry that I can not drop in upon your happy little family today and wish you all the blessings for the coming year.

Your New Year's letter reached me last night and I was more touched than I can tell you, to receive the Mothers' Club contribution. You must tell them how pleased I was, but I will write myself to thank them. I have had many touching evidences that my friends, both high and lowly, have not forgotten me this Christmas time. A letter from the old doctor at the Farm gave such a graphic account of affairs there that I could hear the pigs squeak. She says they put up apricots and blackberries, I am wondering what you did with all the fruit you canned. You say you and Mr. Sloss wept over my letters, well, I am not going to tell you one sad thing in this. For the day I will try to forget the sadness of the world. I have established an Emergency Fund with the various gifts which have been sent me, some of the men in the office hearing of it have contributed. We are supporting out of it a little family of five until the father has sufficiently recovered from an operation to support them. The news of this help was the mother's New Year's gift, wasn't that nice? (She has a baby two months old.) I also got a few toys for her children. It is really very difficult for the Red Cross to take care of individual cases.

I had such a nice Xmas, twenty-five letters, wasn't that fine? They made me feel happier than I have been since my arrival.

It is nice to know that you are not forgotten. One feels sometimes over here so completely overwhelmed by the terrors of life that you can hardly believe that friends at home are just the same faithful stand-bys as ever. I certainly am blessed in my friends, they are such worthwhile people, all true blue.

I am deeply interested in the Y. M. C. A. work. They are doing wonders for the morals of the men. I only regret that the officers are excluded from their recreation centers. Dick and Loyall Sewall say they look with longing eyes at the brightly lighted places and stand out in the cold to listen to the music. I suppose that will develop later.

I might as well tell you now that deeply as I am interested in the children, and you know how my heart goes out to them, my deepest interest is with our boys, Dick and Loyall and their friends give me such a vivid picture of camp life, the cold hard times, homesick days and the general misery of it all, that I know that if the time comes when the hospitals are overflowing with our men and nurses are needed for them, all the French babies in the world won't keep me from them. After all, blood is thicker than water, and these boys are our very own. And they are such young boys, most of them, so carefree and happy. I went with one of them the other day to choose toys for the Xmas tree the regiment was having for the children of the town. He was so young and enthusiastic. I wondered if he would see another Xmas. The regiment that Loyall Sewall is in is infantry. It is considered to be the most dangerous branch of the service. He has already been under fire, had three men killed at his side and has been into No Man's Land.

Now I thank God the snow has stopped the slaughter for a time and peace may come before spring. It is our only hope. Here I am talking tragedies which I swore not to mention, but one always comes to the vital things at last.

I have been up till 11 p. m. every night filling soldiers' Christmas bags, 300,000 were filled for ours and the French.

Paris, January 7, 1918.

To A. G. at Red Cross Headquarters.

Your notice of the sixth of December, stating that you had forwarded a case of children's clothing to the Children's Bureau, Paris, was received by me today. The selection is very good and I feel sure will fill a real need. We find warm night gowns for children quite impossible to secure here, wouldn't it be possible to divert the work from baby kits for a time?

I wish you had seen the joy with which your Xmas bags were received. They did not go after all to men in a hospital as Mrs. Vail advised me to give them to men leaving for the trenches as they suffer so from the cold, you know the bags contained woolen socks which I had made by refugee women. The men were so pleased with the writing paper, I saw some of them counting the sheets. The poilu certainly is a most appealing being, he is so simple and pathetic to me. Yesterday was the feast of the Epiphany, so a special send-off was given the men going to the front. It is wonderful to see the spirit with which the French women conduct their canteens after all these weary years of war. I wonder if we will work with the same enthusiastic spirit at the end of three long years if we are called upon to do it. The room, last night, was so attractively decorated, good food was served and the final touch given when cigarettes were freely distributed. I wish you could have heard 200 men sing the simple peasant songs and clap their hands in unison. The singing of the Marseillaise was, of course, the grand finale, it was splendid, just sent shivers up and down your spine, knowing that many of the men will never return to their homes.

We all regret that we are to lose Major Murphy who, being a West Point man, is returning to the army where all men of sense are needed. I am glad he is going but sorry to have him leave us.

Hotel Vouillemont, 15 Rue Boissy D'Anglas
(Place de la Concorde)
Paris, January 20, 1918.

To J.S.

My impulse upon receiving your nice letter containing the check from Mrs. Heller was to sit down and write you immediately I received it, New Year's Eve, and here it is almost the last of January and your letter not acknowledged yet. But as you know, I lead a very strenuous life and even Sundays are not free as I have a French lesson early in the morning, then church and in the afternoon try to help with the soldiers tea parties. They are so hungry for the sound of an American woman's voice that it is pathetic. When I travel I am constantly stopped by our men who beg me just to speak to them. On one occasion I used a slang expression to one of them and he just slapped his leg in delight, saying, "That's the stuff---that's what I like to hear." it is so pathetic to me. One fellow stopped one of our nurses on the street and after a few preliminary words asked her if she would mind if he read his mother's letter to her.

Really, a great deal is done to fill this need both by the Red Cross and the Y. M. C. A., but they don't begin yet to touch it. It is all such a colossal task. General Wood, who took me off to lunch the other day, predicts that we will need 50,000 nurses before this awful thing is over. I am very much excited and overcome at present over the description a girl gave me of hundreds of Serbian discharged prisoners she had seen with her own eyes while visiting the hospitals who have tuberculosis of the glands of the neck, which extends down the shoulder to the arm. These men were captured by the Austrians, inoculated with tuberculosis and then discharged. Isn't it unbelievable? I would not believe it but from an eye witness. Their case is very pitiful as they get no allowance as the French soldiers do, so they can't even buy a cigarette.

My sister's boy, Loyall Sewall, has just been transferred to the tank service, doesn't that sound terrible? I am afraid my heart and thoughts are more with our men these days than with the poor pitiful French babies, although all my work is for them. We simply can't keep up with the demands on us. I am desperate for nurses.

Paris, January 27, 1918.

To A. G.

This has been a very intense week, full of excitements of all kinds. I hardly know how to begin the chronicle. Our work is increasing by leaps and bounds. This big educational campaign which Dr. Lucas is launching has quite upset the machinery of the bureau. It has, as I wrote you last week, thrown the Paris work into my hands. Between acts I have been trying to supervise their work. It is so far purely a settlement proposition. The settlements themselves haven't the vaguest idea of the duties or possibilities of real district nursing. Their so-called visiting nurses are purely and simply social workers. In fact, every one has to be taught.

Fortunately I have a splendid woman, Miss Phelan from Chicago. She is taking hold well, and I feel sure will be a splendid help to me.

We have to double our hospital at Toul to take in the children from other hospitals which are being evacuated to prepare for the big Boche offensive, which is expected any day. Air raids are expected every night on Paris and altogether there is a very tense feeling in the air. I expect to have a very interesting trip, as that region is very active.

Paris, January 28, 1918.

To L. McL. and C. A. S.

I am going to make an effort to write two letters at once as now that you are all so scattered it is quite impossible for me to keep up with the weekly letters unless I type them which you can see that I do very badly, but I can do it more rapidly than it takes to write. Personally I hate typed letters, but I know you will be very forgiving. My work is increasing by leaps and bounds. My day begins at five or six a. m., never later and ends at seven. You know I never am any good at night, so I just don't attempt it.

Last week was much cheered up by letters from home, some dated the tenth of December, and others December 30th, none on Xmas day, although I feel pretty sure you and Alice and Camilla wrote me on that day. They will come later.

I received a letter from the National Council of Defense asking my advice on the subject of aides being sent. "To be or not to be, that is the question." My plan would be to have them sent to me first and after I had tried them out to transfer them to the military service, if they need them, which they do not at present. This would be too simple a solution of the difficulty to go through, I am sure.

I had such an interesting day on Sunday. I lunched with Miss Derby, there I met Sothern, the actor, who looked too queer in Y. M. C. A. uniform. He is here to advise on the best form of entertainment for our men, he anticipated much difficulty in making the American public see the necessity of it and was relieved and surprised to learn that the public were pretty well educated on the value of play. It is planned to establish 250 theatres for the men in the camps, if such they could be called, these queer looking settlements of our men in French villages.

Later I had tea with two of my old Presbyterian hospital mates who have been here nursing the poilus since the beginning of the war. Miss Allen is now with the English, but does not care for them nearly as much as the French; every nurse has lost her heart to the poilu, his bravery under the knife, never failing cheerfulness and love for his children draws all hearts to him. Miss Warner had just been to the wedding of a poilu who has lost both his hands and earns his living as a clerk; he writes a wonderful hand. I contributed 100 frs. out of our fund to help start him in housekeeping, people with pluck like that should be helped.

Miss Allen gave us a most thrilling account of the murder of Rasputin, as told to her by an eye witness. It all sounds like the wildest dime novel. Miss Warner has charge of a large French military hospital. She has been bombarded several times and been obliged to flee with her patients, one of her nurses lost her hand during one of the bombardments. Miss Warner says that nothing is so important to the poilu as his drawers, he is willing to go without any other article of clothing, but is utterly miserable without drawers.

Sunday I dined with Dr. and Mrs. Lucas to celebrate his birthday. Dr. Cabot was of the party, we had such an interesting evening. Dr. Cabot has a splendid dispensary in Paris; he has so many patients that he can't handle them all.

Toul, February 2, 1918.

To A.G.

As usual I don't know where to begin, I have so much to write to you about, but think I will answer your letter first.

While I write a Frenchman is playing, very slowly, "The Star Spangled Banner" on the piano. My heart is in my mouth today as I hear that our men, Dick's regiment, is to make its first offensive within the next few days, the possibilities are too dreadful to think of. But I must put aside fear and think of other things.

This idea that the French people will only accept black aprons for their children is all nonsense. We have five hundred children here, all happy without them, and the fifty mothers seem perfectly satisfied.

I hope ,that fine box you sent reaches us, but it really matters little so the children get them, as they surely will.

Now I must tell you the story of my past week. To begin with Monday. I heard that General Wood had been severely wounded. I located the hospital he had been taken to and called on him in the afternoon, found him up and smiling with his arm in a sling. Seventy-five Frenchmen had been killed right beside him by an exploding shell. I had a nice quiet visit and sent a reassuring note to Louise by a friend who was sailing for home the next day. I tried to get off to Toul Tuesday morning but the work piled up so I couldn't get away.

I have sent for seventy-five nurses more. We expect in the immediate future to have hospital dispensaries at Havre, Lyons, near Nancy, at Togue, a munition town, at St. Etienne, a big munition center, and to take care of ten thousand refugees from Nancy who are to be evacuated in the immediate future. One hospital here doubles its capacity next week. I have great difficulty in providing nurses, they come so slowly from America.

A pathetic little family of five, mother and four children, arrived here today from Pompey, their house had been destroyed by a bomb. The nurses are distributing layettes and clothing from the dispensaries which we maintain in this region. We have ten now; I visited some of them yesterday.

The night before I left Paris we had a visit from the Boche, sixty planes. It was very thrilling. I stood on the balcony and watched it, but I never will do such a foolish thing again as I have since learned that many were killed. A plane came down quite close to us. We could see the manoeuvering in the air. The planes all carry lights, then to hear and see the bursting bombs, the sound of canonading and the sky lighted with the fires started by the bursting bombs, none of it seemed real to me. When I first heard the siren I hopped out of bed into your nice warm wrapper and stood on the balcony until I couldn't resist the temptation to, see what was going on in the streets, so many people were running about below me. The Place de la Concorde presented a weird scene. A low sort of land fog made everything indistinct, but the sky was very blue and clear, the moon full, and the air filled with planes darting about in every direction, it certainly was exciting.

I left at 6:30 the next morning for Toul. Found things in somewhat of a mess here, a new head nurse having a little difficulty in maintaining discipline, but with my backing all is serene again. We really have had very little trouble all things considered and the children get the best of care. I have never seen a more conscientious group and the aids are fine.

Mr. Raeder, an orphan asylum expert from New York, is here. Dr. Ladd says that he was simply dumbfounded when he arrived to see the condition of things, five hundred children huddled together in soldiers' barracks, nothing according to Hoyle. After he got his second wind, he went to work and has been able to bring about a good many reforms, although the French mothers and matrons of the buildings resist him at every step. I am so glad I have seen him, because he was so discouraged---felt that no one understood his aims. I told him that he was not establishing something permanent, just a temporary shelter. We may be shelled out any minute. It has been a surprise to me to find that these people are just like the Neopolitans as far as dirt is concerned. Of course the excuse is that they have no running water in the houses, but they could have had it ages ago if they had considered it of any importance.

Paris, February 9, 1918.

To A. G.

Visited Mrs. Ladd's studio where she makes masks to cover deformed, mutilated faces which are beyond the help of surgery. I saw a poor poilu whose entire nose and part of upper jaw was gone, his tongue could be plainly seen moving in his mouth. The transformation made by his mask was marvelous. He stood before us smoking a cigarette, lips parted slightly; the flesh tints of the mask so perfect that you expected his expression to change. Mrs. Ladd is a very clever sculptor. She makes plastic masks first from the original and then builds them up. This man was a good subject, as both his eyes were unharmed. The mask was held in place by attachments over, the ears. It is made of very fine light copper and painted flesh colors, a stubble of hair on each of the side cheeks helped the deception, with a real mustache. When worn with large spectacles the mask is wonderfully life like. I am wondering how this delicate painting will stand the wear and tear of use, weather, etc. The idea is to provide the poor fellows with something which will enable them to go about their work without being absolutely repulsive to their fellow beings.

Le Glandier, Le Pompadour, February 12, 1918.

The refuge home for 680 Belgian children who have been taken from their parents is an old monastery of the Chartreuse monks. It was taken from them twelve years ago and sold to a land syndicate. The place has been partly destroyed, all the handsome woodwork torn out of the chapel which is ruined, many of the cloisters blasted out in an effort to give the place a more secular air. There were many ruins to be cleared away before the place was at all habitable for-the poor little Belgian refugees. I saw the place at its best, on a bright sunny day with the children actively at play under the leadership of two Quaker boys from Philadelphia. The children alternate in the school, one-half in the morning and one-half in the afternoon, so the boys are kept busy all day long teaching their American games; football and baseball are the favorites. It is pathetic to see the boys' efforts in sabots and aprons to run and play, freely. I talked with the manager, Capt. Gros, about overalls; he was charmed with the idea. I promised to send him some samples. The Belgians seem more progressive than the French, they take to new ideas more easily. The sabots are very hard on the feet, rows of children were waiting in the dispensary having their feet dressed, they had ugly looking raw places on them, the result of rough sabots and some had bad looking places from frozen feet, the sabots are so cold. Apart from the aprons, caps and sabots, I can see no difference in their dress. Capt. Gros and the Belgian doctor in charge could not speak highly enough of Miss Boyle, our head nurse. She and her assistant worked night and day for two months; in December they had a number of pneumonia cases; her devotion was so great that it won the admiration of all. They are to receive the Elizabeth Cross from the Queen, who visits them next month, they surely deserve it, for a week neither nurse took off her clothes. We had no idea in Paris what a hard time they were having, as Miss Boyle didn't like to complain. Capt. Gros has asked her to supervise the baths and the dormitories. I think all will go better now that the cold weather is over.

Fontainbleau, February 17, 1918.

To A. G.

Miss Byrne and I came here last night to spend Sunday with three nice boys who are having a leave, they are not allowed to go to Paris so came to the nearest point; The young people are riding this morning and I have just made the tour of the chateau, it is sad to see it like everything over here being denuded of its splendor, all the tapestries and other valuables being cached for fear of the Boche. It is all so peaceful and beautiful here that war is hard to imagine, of course the boys talk of nothing else. They are instructors in the artillery school. Speaking of the fortunes of war, one of them said that when he arrived at the school it was dark; he was met by a private who deferentially took his bag and escorted him to the hotel. When they could see each other the private turned out to be one of his classmates at Yale; they both had a good laugh.

After having three weeks of quite warm weather it has turned bitterly cold suddenly. I am so sorry for the men in the trenches and the little children, seeing all those frozen feet at La Glandier made me realize how they suffer. It is simply impossible to heat these barracks in which they are housed, as difficult as to make our gymnasium warm.

We are staying at the hotel France et Angleterre. I am wondering if you have ever been here, I always wonder that wherever I go. It is an interesting quaint old place, the walls quite covered by old engravings. I go to Evian again this week.

Paris, February 24 1918.

To A. G.

Captain Farragut Hall is in the infantry. We had a fine lunch and talk together the other day. He gave me such a nice account of the relations of his men with the village people. He says they carry the heavy loads of washing home for the women after they have knelt side by side at the stream washing their clothes, it is quite a sight. They chop wood, play with the children, and make themselves generally useful. Farragut's regiment was temporarily taken from this village, and upon their return they had a royal welcome. The men are really in fine condition, the morale splendid; this I hear from all sides. They get on better with the Australians than with any of the other Allies.

Paris, March 2, 1918.

To L. McL.

I am very much interested in the refugees from Nancy. We have the medical supervision of them. One colony of 1,000 children.

I have been hearing tales of German brutality that makes my blood boil. They refused to heat the cars filled with refugees from Northern France, who were en route through Belgium sometimes for four or five days. Many arrived at Evian frozen! For a long time no toilet facilities were provided on the trains. The conditions when they arrived in Switzerland were so terrible that the Swiss Government protested and finally one toilet was installed in each train.

We hear many stories of the terrible treatment our prisoners receive, but I discredit those tales of horror. You never can trace them; it is always some one else who has seen it. I know that our troops are in good shape---the morale fine.

Mrs. H. has had her eyes opened especially to the moral conditions and is surprised to find things going so well; with exception of five men at Bordeaux on Xmas day she has not seen a drunken army man. A French general told a friend of mine that he was delighted with the quickness of the American, they learned so rapidly.

Paris, March 3rd, 1918.

To A. G.

The children's work is really helping the whole war situation tremendously. We have over and over again expressions of gratitude and confidence from the Poilu of the care we are giving his children. When the children were sent out of Nancy the parents begged that they be given to the Americans to care for and our doctors and nurses left Nancy with the thousands of children that were sent to safety. All of this counts tremendously in the winning of the war, and I suppose I must be content with my part in it but I do long to directly help our men.

Paris, March 5, 1918.

To Willing Circle.

This is designed to be an Easter greeting but you probably won't receive it before May Day. In this very uncertain life we lead, the mail is one of the most uncertain things of all. Although it is surprising how little is really finally lost. I have so far received every package which has been sent me, which I think is quite surprising.

Just at present all my thoughts are with our men on the firing line. They are behaving so splendidly and we are so proud of them. From all sides I hear praise and appreciation of the work they are doing. The French officers are delighted with their eagerness to grasp all that is taught them.

I visited one of our hospitals last week at Dijon; it is an old Jesuit school and was the dirtiest place imaginable, but has been made fresh and clean by much scrubbing and new paint applied by German prisoners, who looked disgustingly fat, well and complacent compared to our men stretched out ill in their beds in a foreign land, all because of German vileness. There were five hundred and eighty men in the hospital, no wounded. I did not see any of our pyjamas. The men sit about convalescing in very forlorn looking citizen clothes. One hundred and eighty-five of these men had mumps. I have not seen any men in France parading the streets in those pyjamas, they may do so in summer, but I doubt it.

Miss Warner, a nurse who has been in charge of a French hospital here since the beginning of the war, tells me that next to his children, the dearest things to a Poilu's heart are his drawers, his wife doesn't seem to count at all. He is perfectly miserable if he has to leave the hospital without drawers.

I hope you have seen the wonderful letter of thanks written by the man with wooden fingers, it is truly remarkable. He earns his living clerking at the Bon Marché.

Have I written you about the marvelous masks which Mrs. Ladd, the wife of Dr. Ladd in charge at Toul, makes for the mutilés? It is almost like a miracle. The mask is of very fine copper and painted the exact flesh tints of the wearer. Worn with a mustache and spectacles, it is most life like. It is worn while the man is at work.

I have just returned from a visit to Evian where I saw several trains arrive loaded with people from Northern France. The border is to be closed for several weeks now. It is always closed when the military operations become very active. I think many spies must get through among the rapatriés. It was, of course, a tragic sight, one can't get hardened to the sorrow and frightfulness of all that it means. As the train pulls up in France the buglers play patriotic strains, the windows are crowded with shouting and weeping people, Vive la France! fills the air, Swiss flags are waved from the windows. The Swiss never fail to provide flags and toys for the children who get out of the train hopelessly dirty and grimy, but generally with dolls clasped in their arms. Our ambulance men are at hand to tenderly lift the sick and feeble to the ground into wheeled chairs or directly to the ambulance. The crowd is composed almost entirely of decrepit old people and little children, the majority under eight. Mothers are only sent when they are ill or have infants in their arms, and what to me is the most tragic sight of all is to see a woman step off that train clasping in her arms a Boche baby, which of course they all are. If the woman is married she leaves this poor little babe at Evian as she cannot face the husband with it in her arms, but the unmarried girls usually keep theirs. Five of these poor little abandoned creatures were brought to our little orphan refuge the night I was there. It was an inexpressably sad sight to see them waiting in the hail to be admitted.

But to write of something more cheerful, it is really a joy to see all these people march down the long avenue overlooking the Lake Geneva, their faces radiant, shouting now and then "Vive la France!" They are always delighted at the sight of Americans. One dear old woman with such a lovely face kept clasping my hand as I walked beside her to carry her heavy bundle (they all come through laden), saying, "Americans, our compatriots." The feeling of confidence that these poor people have that we have come to save them is really too touching for words, it makes one feel that no sacrifice is too great to justify their faith in us; and as I look about me and see all the earnest men and women who are over here and think of the work and unselfish devotion that is shown at home, I have a sense of security and a deep feeling that right will prevail in the world. All the powers of darkness can not overcome the light which is being shed now. People are making great sacrifices without even giving a thought to it, it seems so natural to put aside material things now when the call of the spirit bids us put forth our best efforts to overcome evil.

There are four men here in the Red Cross who compose an entire law firm from New York, Byrne, Cutchen and Taylor, they have practically abandoned a prosperous business at their country's call.

The activity near Toul gives us a good deal of anxiety for our five hundred children, the place is about a mile from the town of Toul. We have just opened a maternity hospital there to receive refugees from Nancy. A bomb exploded in one of the maternity wards in Nancy the other day so the patients have all been removed to Toul. Our doctors and nurses are still working in Nancy but it is getting pretty hot there, all of the helpless women and children have been sent out.

I have been getting off nurses and aides all week to the various points where the population of Nancy have been sent in large groups. For instance at Dinard there are one thousand children. As soon as large numbers are gathered together contageous diseases break out. We always have at least half a dozen nurses and aides ill with contageous diseases. It is most trying when they are so scarce. I am in terror now for fear an emergency will arise in the next few days before another steamer comes, as I haven't one nurse or aide to send.

We are just beginning a most interesting piece of work in Paris. You have probably read about it before now in the papers. It is the distribution of food to the school children. Our doctors came to the conclusion that as nine-tenths of the illness they saw was the result of malnutrition, it was useless to have clinics if the children could not be fed, so they have given a supplementary meal in all the schools where the children are poor. It consists of a Red Cross bun made of flour, milk, sugar and chopped fruits, figs and dates. This is given with a piece of chocolate every afternoon at 4 p. m. We saw the first distribution which was made a great occasion by the schoolmaster. The children sang "The Star-Spangled Banner" in English better than our children can sing it, they decorated the school with little American flags which they made and generally showed their appreciation. This food distribution serves two ends, it is a simple telling demonstration to the poor people that America is behind them, and will do much to keep up their courage in the trying months to come.

Paris, March 7, 1918.

To Willing Circle.

Last night I wrote you a long letter only to wake this a. m. with a feeling that I had not finished all that I would say to you as I know how difficult it is these days to catch up with the march of events if we let weeks slip by without record. As this is the only diary I keep, I hate to let the days slip without noting the facts of interest to me.

Did I write you about the enthusiasm with which my overall suggestion was met by Captain Gros who is in charge of the Belgian children? He is impatient to see all his boys in "Can't bust 'ems." He bemoans the fact that he has just ordered aprons, but I told him the girls could use them. But sad to relate the sample overalls which Alice sent me months ago have not yet arrived. I had some difficulty in my bad French explaining the overall idea, but finally succeeded so well that Captain Gros drew a very good picture of a pair.

The Americans seem to absorb like sponges. They will return with many different views of life, some of them bad and some good, but never will they or the nation be the same after this great experience. I can see people's-whole point of view change before my very eyes, it is really very curious and this same mental process is taking place in millions of American minds and hearts at this very moment.

I am very hopeful on one point, I feel sure that those who have, through this world tragedy, learned the joy of personal service, will never be content again to let the suffering world go by without extending the hand of brotherly love. We won't find it so difficult in the future to supply our starving babes with milk, or to find homes for the families full of light and sunshine, places fit for human beings to live and bring up our future citizens in.

I have seen nothing over here, except in the bombarded, destroyed towns, worse than we have at this very minute on Telegraph Hill. But I am sure that is not what you want to hear, but at times I do look forward with hope to what we might accomplish when all this awakened interest and realization of the life that is outside our own narrow walls will be expended on sweeping and garnishing of our own cities, making them physically and morally fit for the coming race to grow and develop in.

Dr. Lucas expects to return in May to take part in various child welfare conferences. He has launched a big Infant Mortality campaign here. The plan is that after a series of demonstrated lectures are given in a town, generally in the opera house, a group of trained social service visitors headed by a nurse, goes to the town and organizes baby clinics, home visiting, etc. The plan is to stay in each place about two months, during which time they hope to rouse such enthusiasm and plant such seeds as will develop into flourishing trees of infant life.

The difficulty of accomplishing such a scheme as this during war time is almost overwhelming, but Dr. Lucas is very enthusiastic and optimistic about it and really inspires people to do the impossible. So few nurses have the training and initiative to undertake such a big piece of work that I am in despair at times in supplying the demand.

This plan only covers the small centers, we have permanent educational exhibits and teaching centers in the big cities; here in Paris we have now six dispensaries where French women are being taught public health visiting and home care of the sick. In fact we are doing much more here than we have ever dreamed of undertaking at home. We are hopeful of teaching something here as the French are thoroughly frightened over the low birth and high death rate.

I forgot to tell you of a little incident I witnessed at the base hospital the other day at Dijon. A group of men who were discharged and just about to leave, held in their hands bright comfort bags which they had received at Christmas. I spoke to them about them and they told me that they treasured them above everything. The nurses say they never let them out of their sight It was so touching to see those big men holding those foolish looking little bags full of their treasures. I used to wonder at Christmas time when I stood for hours in the evening on a stone floor, cold up to my waist, whether I wasn't wasting time and strength, but I am sure now it was worth it.

We filled 200,000 bags and I assure you it was a big task. Not many of those filled at home got here in time for Christmas, but they will do for another time. When I distributed the bags, Alice commissioned me to fill for her, I saw a Poilu standing in a corner counting the sheets of paper.

We may have to withdraw some of our nurses from the front. At Nesle the whole hospital force, nurses, patients and doctors, have to frequently retire to the cellar for the night when the bombardment becomes too severe. One of our nurses at Nesle is to be decorated. A train upon which one of our nurses was traveling to Toul, not long since, was struck by a shell, but fortunately no deaths. The situation becomes. more tense every day.

A hotel for nurses has just been opened in Paris. We have found such difficulty in finding suitable accommodations. I don't expect to live there as I am very comfortably located. None of the clothes have come which people write have been sent to me direct, except four flannelette nightgowns without name of sender.

I can't understand why it is so difficult to find suitable aides for me. A cable comes saying that only 7 have been found out of 25 I cabled for two months ago. It may be the fact that we require them to speak French is insurmountable or is it that their patriotism doesn't extend to the care of babies?

Margaret Robins is eager to come over, but is under age. I have cabled specially for her. Twenty-five to forty are the age limits. General Wood thinks we will need 50,000 nurses; the thought is overwhelming.

Paris, March 20, 1918.

To A. G.

On Friday the big explosion took place at Laconouvre. I was in the Bon Marché at the time with the Countess Bremand d'Ars, the lovely Frenchwoman I have written you about, who translates for us. She is fascinating, typically French. Her husband and only son have been killed, her one remaining child, a daughter, is at the school of the Legion of Honor founded by Napoleon at St. Denis for officers' daughters. The Countess and I were, as I said, at the Bon Marché, when we heard a terrific explosion accompanied by the falling of glass and great clouds of dust. One's first thought was the Boche. The Countess made a wild dive to the street which took her under the huge glass rotunda. I had a hard time controlling her, we finally got out into the street to seek a "cave." Madame had an idea that it was an attack upon the Ministry of War where her brother is, he is the Minister of Aviation. We inquired of a man on the street who assured us it was not a raid, but an explosion at St. Denis. You can imagine the poor woman's feelings; she began to moan and cry, "my husband is gone, my son is gone and now my daughter." Fortunately I found a taxi near by, drove her to the Ministry of War, where her brother, who was jumping into a car, called back, "no, not--- St. Denis, Laconouvre." Well, my heart stopped, for we had a doctor, nurse, and French aide working there. It is a big munition center, the people all living in little huts around the factories, four villages cluster about the place.

I stopped at the office, picked up doctors and nurses and first aid supplies, two cars full, and went to the rescue, but you will have to read the rest in Miss Crandall's letter.

When I got to Lavonouvre, the center of the disaster, I found 500 homeless people whom the mayor had to provide for. He said that he had a good building to put them in, an old race track with stables, casino, etc., but he needed food, clothing and bedding. I told him to telephone in to the Red Cross immediately, and I returned to Paris in hot haste as it was nearly noon. I left him trying to telephone.

Paris, Palm Sunday, March 24, 1918.

To A. G.

This is really becoming a perfect bore. One never gets settled but that "Alert" sounds and we are routed out of our beds. Now that the planes come at night and we are bombarded by day, there is no rest for the weary. I get so sleepy that I can not keep my eyes open to be alarmed. Sunday night I was dining at another hotel when the "Alert" sounded. I waited until 9:30 then took a room on the first floor and went to bed. I slept until morning. Fortunately I came home at dawn because I could not get any breakfast. At eight a. m. the "Alert" sounded again and guns boomed every twenty minutes all day. It is astonishing that a gun has such a long range.

The poor have the hardest time through all this. They live in rickety old houses, with poorly constructed cellars. They hover until midnight around the entrance of the Metros with their children clinging to them and with little bundles in their hands, it is all so hideous and now that the terrific battle has begun and thousands and tens of thousands of men are going to their deaths to save us from destruction, I long to be nearer them.

Whenever I think of that battle line, I see dear old Dick facing the enemy with his fearless blue eyes. He seems typical to me of the Anglo-Saxon interpreting the "Golden Boy" that one of these poets writes about.

Loyall Sewall is here in Paris, thank God, he is so dear and fine.

Dr. Blake's hospital is filled with our gassed men; their eyes being badly injured. It is unbearable.

I want to answer your fine letters but my heart is so in those trenches I can think of nothing else. I know you will understand.

The guns are turned on Paris again this morning. Loyall is coming to go to church with me. I do not know, now, if there will be a service. It is Palm Sunday. The Boche have promised to spend Easter in Paris.

Paris, 8,00 p. m., March 25, 1918.

To A. G.

I know your thoughts are with me and the bleeding world in which we live. The sound of the big guns booming by day and the bombs being dropped at night, have made us all realize very fully the gigantic battle that is going on at the front, and the thousands giving their lives in our defense.

Last night we were routed out of bed at 1.00 a. m. by the "Alert" and after a few hours rest it sounded again this morning, but as we read this morning of the fearful carnage at the front, how trifling our small discomforts seen. Tonight we have better news, that the English are gaining ground and that the big guns turned on Paris have been silenced by two aviators, who gave their lives to silence them.

I long, now, to be at the front. My work here seems so little worth while. Two of our nurses returned from Nesle today. They had to leave without their clothes. They took the children from the hospital to a place of safety.

It is a cloudy night so we should have a quiet sleep.

Paris, March 27, 1918.

To A. G.

Another day has dawned bright and clear. It looked like rain yesterday, which might have helped to arrest the enemy. It is hard to sleep with that terrific battle raging right at our doors.

An emergency call came last night for nurses. Dr. Lucas was away but I hope he returned last night from England. I am anxious to leave for the front, but do not know whether they will consent to it or not. It is hard to decide what is most helpful. I may be of more use here.

Just what part our men are taking, I do not know. We hear nothing of them.

Everyone here is very calm, no nervous excitement. The restaurants and cafes are filled as usual.

Paris, 4:30 a. m., March 28, 1918.

To A. G.

Easter approaches. The battle rages. The forces of Satan seem to prevail over the Prince of Peace, seem to prevail but will not prevail, although things look very black. Fleeing people bring news of conquering forces, sweeping in upon us, but I have absolute faith in the ultimate result. Everyone is calm and unafraid.

Yesterday our doctors and nurses arrived from Amiens, where they had retreated from Nesle, which has been taken and lost seven times. The nurses gave thrilling accounts of their experiences. One of them carried an eight weeks' old baby in her arms for two days.

Dr. Lucas returned from London tonight to my great relief. He rushed around with me to the Military Affairs Bureau. It was decided to make up teams of doctors and nurses and orderlies; fill camions with surgical supplies, go on the road toward the front and give first aid to the retreating wounded. The nurses and surgical supplies' end of it was turned over to me.

The nurses have responded splendidly. Everyone is eager for the privilege of going to the front and those who have returned are most eager to get back. It is a grief to me that I must stay here, but I am sure that I can thus help more.

Paris, Good Friday, March 29, 1918

To A.G.

The battle continues to rage; five days of agony. What is the result to be? You will know before you receive this.

The absolutely calm, smiling self-control of the French is heroic. Their confidence in their army is perfect. The only comment they make is "The Boche will never pass our line." But we who have not been hardened to years of horror are depressed. I assure you that reading of it in San Francisco and seeing it enacted before your eyes are different matters, for we know that but a few miles from us the dead are so thick on the ground that the troops can not move and one can almost hear the moans of the wounded. Refugees are coming into Paris telling sickening tales of horror. Our own workers, who stayed until they were forcibly removed from the burning towns also bring much information. Both sides arrested the oncoming troops with gas and liquid fire. The aeroplanes circled low above the troops, dropping upon them the tortures of hell. How those men come on and on in the face of it I can not understand.

An official announcement last night says that the Americans are fighting but we hear no news of them, although yesterday we had a hurry call from the American ambulance for nurses.

The English army has been crushed by mere numbers. They are fighting magnificently.

We have been working frantically to get off teams to the rear of the army. The nurses were ready in a half hour after the call came, all eager to go, of course. Those who were left were heart broken, I among the number, but I know I can help most here.

Mr. Devine has met this emergency well. I am in charge of the nursing pro tem. I send a French speaking aid with each team.

They are having a dreadful time at Chalons where my friend, Miss Pye, the Friend, has her maternity hospital. We have a number of nurses there with her. I worry about them all but so far no one has been hurt.

We made the rounds of the railway stations last night. The sights were so pitiful. Our nurses help the sick. I saw a five weeks' old baby sucking a piece of chocolate. The excitement of the flight from a burning town had dried up the mother's milk and the milk at the station had given out.

Our Red Cross camions drive back and forth from the storehouse and the stations all day long supplying the needs. All the outgoing soldiers are fed and the incoming refugees. It is all wonderfully well arranged and organized. All of the people who arrive at night have to sleep in the stations, where rows and rows of matresses are put down. We are most helpful at night. I assign about six nurses and aids to each station for the night. A doctor goes with each group. These are chiefly women doctors, as the men have gone to the front with the teams.

Paris, March 31, 1918. Easter Day at dawn.

To A. G.

I simply can not sleep through these dreadful nights for the moon has been so bright that nightfall does not bring a cessation of the killing. No brief time comes when the wounded may be brought in and the dead cleared from the field for another day's carnage.

Our losses in Paris seem such a trifling matter compared with the thousands who are falling to protect us. You know, of course, that eighty-five people were killed while they were at a church on Good Friday. France is being crucified now but I believe that her resurrection will come and that she will be purified and fairer than ever before. I can not tell you how I admire the spirit of these heroic people, face to face with total annihilation they stand perfectly calm and serene and politely smiling at us strangers, who they never permit to penetrate their reserve. It is a self-restraint that makes one stand and uncover the head as they pass through this fiery ordeal.

Yesterday, I slipped out of the office for a few minutes to order some flowers and came back with my arms full as delivery is very difficult now. As I walked through the streets laden with flowers and heard the loud report of the canons (from the vibrations we can get a pretty good idea of how close the shell is bursting), I thought that in my wildest nightmare I had never dreamed that I would be calmly walking through Paris streets, gathering flowers as it were, amidst bursting shells.

Dr. Lucas is a big man, nothing small about him. As our bureau had many more nurses and doctors in it than any other, Major Burlingame thought it best for us to have charge of the Medical Emergency.

Monday.

I returned to the office after church. The guns boomed all the afternoon and the effort of trying to bring the Easter spirit into this mad world was finally over. I was called in the night to the Gare de Lyon for an emergency; fifty sick people had unexpectedly arrived.

Paris, April 2, 1918. (Postmark.)

To A. G.

We have plenty of good public health workers but what we are short of is nurses for hospital work. There are thousands of them at home who are eager to come, who can not get over. Why, I can not make out. I am short 150 workers.

If this war has not accomplished anything else, I think it will have shaken people together more and there will be a better spirit of brotherhood in the world. Men who have been side by side through this world crisis must have a better understanding of each other. The relation of a French officer and soldier is a very beautiful one to me. I have dined at the home of Monsieur Mirman, the great Prefect, where seated at the same table were a French General and two Poilus, the latter being god children of Mme. Mirman at home on permission. The General and the Poilus conversed together in the simplest and most natural manner.

Paris, April 3, 1918.

To E. S.

There are few quiet moments in Paris now. Between air raids by night and cannonading by day we have a very lively time. It is strange how quickly one gets used to such things. When the bombarding first began, people rushed to the street and curiously looked about to see where the shell had burst, but now, although we know that each report of that gun means death and destruction to innocent, defenseless people, we hardly raise our eyes from our desks. The cruel senselessness of this bombardment of Paris has so infuriated the French people that it seems to me the Boche couldn't have selected a means more calculated to stimulate France to spill her last drop of blood to eject the barbarian from her soil. The air raids on unfortified cities might possibly be justified from a military standpoint, that the enemy planes are thus kept at home for defense, but these big guns can do nothing but kill a few hundred women and children every day, destroy priceless works of art, and nothing is accomplished by them of military advantage.

I am simply filled with admiration for the French people. I am on my very knees before them. I have never dreamt of such sublime courage as that displayed by the wives, mothers and sisters of these heroic men who are dying by the thousands to keep men free. It stirs one's soul to the very depths.

Last week, when the fleeing multitudes came to Paris from their burning homes, we kept nurses and aids night and day at the railroad stations, which I assure you are not very safe places at present, as they are the objectives of the air raids. Train loads crowded with refugees and wounded come in all night. I made rounds continually myself to see that all went well and then I blessed the thoughtful friends at home who supplied me with money to use in individual relief. I met so many pitiful little families who have fled leaving their all behind them. Many arrive carrying nothing but their pet animals. One old woman brought her goat, which she said behaved better on the train than the children, another hugged a rabbit, dogs and cats of course were plentiful and even little pigs could be found, tucked under protecting arms, saved from the Boche stomach. The calm courage of all these women was marvelous, not a complaint was heard, not a tear shed. I had a long talk with a madonna-like mother whom I found standing surrounded by her eight children, the youngest in her arms, the eldest a pretty girl of sixteen years. Her serene face shone with pride when I admired her children. This is the second time she has been evacuated, fled for her life, leaving behind all her household treasures. She told me her tale quietly and calmly and without a complaint. All I could say was "Madame, what courage!"

Her simple answer was "Victory is sure." I felt like uncovering my head before her.

I have been spending a good deal of relief money enabling mothers to send their frightened children from Paris. It is so hard for the poor little children. One little boy of ten said to the district nurse: "I don't fear, but it is hard for the little ones." One of the nurses who was in church on Good Friday when the shell exploded, saw the child who knelt in the pew before her instantly killed. A shock like that is never forgotten.

The Red Cross is establishing colonies for these children in the mountains, fortunately the weather has been very mild. Valuable work was also done last week, supplying the railway canteens with food, clothing and medical service. Many old people entirely collapse at the end of their flight.

These are tragic letters I write you but this is a tragic time. Never while we live on earth will the horror of these days be forgotten. It certainly is a time when every man and women is called upon to put forth his best efforts. The little children of today will be the questioners of the future. They will demand of mothers and fathers: "What did you do to help in the great fight for liberty?"

Won't the taking of Jerusalem be a great help to the Jews in founding their new Zion? It was the first thought that came to my mind. It would be wonderful if the victory gave to the Jews their own again.

Paris, April 4, 1918.

To A. G.

This is the first Sunday since I have been in France that I have not written to you the first thing in the morning, but I wakened with a discouraged feeling, probably due to the fact that the big gun boomed the greater part of the night, which is very disturbing to sleep. It is the first time we have had it at night. Although I am not personally afraid, one can not help but wonder what tragedy has followed in its wake. You have heard of the slaughter of the innocents in the maternity hospital a few days ago, mothers with their new-born babes killed or wounded.

The children are being sent from Paris in colonies as rapidly as possible, the mothers must stay at their work. I have been contributing money to mothers for some of them to pay traveling expenses for the children who have relatives or friends in the south. The Bureau of Refugees does not consider Paris children refugees. Thank goodness and my friends that I have a fund to call on.

I have felt so unhappy at not doing some army nursing that I have written to see if it would not be possible to serve in a hospital during my vacation which will be in June. I have offered to do night nursing, since I do not feel equal to doing those horrible dressings. Dr. Lucas is away, but I am sure he will consent if I get the call. Since our men are in the fight it has been too much for me; not that I am not willing to care for any of the men, but I know that the more men the more need of nurses. Two weeks ago one thousand a day passed through the hands of one of our units.

Although the British continue to lose ground a little every day, now that Foch is in command confidence has been restored.

Your day at the Farm seemed like Heaven to me. I hear the court ladies next appear in Roman guise, those costumes! I would rather see one of Miss Johnson's plays than the Paris grand opera.

Paris, April 7, 1918.

To A. G.

Mrs. Ladd says that no one can help her who has not made a specialty of portrait sculpture. Dr. Collin might do, but she could not come under the Red Cross as she is a neutral. They seem to get away from America without trouble, but when they arrive here they are held up by the Paris police, who visé all our personnel.

Mrs. Ladd is a genius. I try to look after her a little, as she neglects herself horribly, when genius burns. She is giving new life to men through her masks.

I am going to lunch with Madame Gotz today, which means that I will not only have a good lunch but a talk with a very loyal American, who is so proud of her country that she speaks of it with tears in her eyes. She has intimate friends among the high French people, who give her a good deal of information of the kind we do not ordinarily get. They all admire the spirit of our men. They find them adaptable and teachable.

The English have certainly been giving their life blood for the cause. When I read of those brave batallions going down as a man all of my Anglo-Saxon blood rises in me to respond to the call.

Paris, April 28, 1918.

To A. G.

It has been two weeks since a letter has gone to you---the longest period of silence since I left home. I wrote as usual last week on the train, but the letter was so smudgy that I did not send it, thinking to write another immediately. But these last weeks have been strenuous ones, and I had a horrid cold which kept me very tired as I coughed so much at night. It is much better now.

But to go back in history (I suppose all we live is history now), hearing that things were not going well at the Chateau, I decided to take a flying trip down there last week. I picked out the psychological moment for it, as the Baby Welfare Exhibit had caused such a stir that all the high moguls decided to go down to see what all the excitement was about. Miss Boardman and Mr. Davison have both been here, and we all arrived in Lyons Sunday morning.

A big Red Cross lunch was given for Mr. Davison, who had just come from Italy where he had been much impressed by the work of the Red Cross there. He received an ovation in Rome, where 50,000 people gathered in the Coliseum to do him honor; it must have been a wonderful sight. Every one says that the Italians are even more appreciative of the help America has given them than the French are, and that is saying a good deal. I sat at Mr. Davison's right at the luncheon, which was an honor I should not have had according to my ideas of etiquette, but I did enjoy it as he was most interesting, and a very intimate friend of Cousin Loyall's.

Mr. Davison told me that he considered Dr. Lucas a genius, and as I quite agree with him I was glad to have my opinion endorsed by so clever a man. He must have been all the more impressed by his ability after lunch when we visited the exhibit, and saw 10,500 people standing in line, waiting to get into the pavilion. I shall never forget that sight. Last week 72,000 people attended---the population of Lyons is 700,000---and this did not include the school children who are taken every morning to it. Dr. Lucas proved that he had a better understanding of the French than we had, for we were all skeptical as to the possibility of interesting people in an educational exhibit while the most terrific battle in the world's history is being fought. But the more the men are mowed down the more eager they are to save the babies for France.

In front of the exhibit building, which faces one of their beautiful squares, a model playground is teeming with children led by two charming girls, Ruth Heyneman being one of them. That has been a revelation to the French, but they will have to change their laws before much can be done in that line, as a school teacher can be sued for damages if a child has an accident while at school. Of course the most popular exhibit was the washing of the baby which took place in a glass case, a real live baby furnished by Madame Gilet.

We have had another rushing week getting off nurses and aids to help in our army; not under the military authorities, as they have been going into the French hospitals where our men are taken since the armies have been joined. It is really a very complicated situation.

April 28, 1918.

To A. G.

I am going to St. Cloud. This afternoon I go to Beauvais, which is not far from Amiens. Many of our wounded are there.

We are so proud of the courage and coolness our boys show. Madame Goetz always speaks of them with tears in her eyes. She hears them spoken of by the French generals.

Paris, no date (probably May 1, 1918).

To A. G.

I have not been waking at dawn lately, consequently have not had nearly so much time for work. However this morning I got a good start, and now have a few moments. I feel cheerful as the sun is shining, a most unusual occurrence, and the birds are singing, too. I am going to try to get out to Versailles where we have a nursery which needs inspection. We have one building of a big establishment where Dr. Lucas is making a demonstration of American methods. It is a very difficult proposition, as the woman in charge has been there for twenty years. We have two nurses there, and eight French pupils.

I can not tell you how we miss Dr. Lucas, the inspiration gone. Quite a number of new nurses (only two aids) came on the last boat. I have been trying to give them an idea of the situation here; I think this experience will be a revelation to many. I am sure I shall never be the same again. I feel sure you will find a changed point of view on many subjects.

I did not realize until I left home that all my work in life had been done surrounded by and supported by people whom I love and who love me; but in spite of the difficulties, the cause here is so big and so worth while that one is willing to suffer for it.

Paris, May 2, 1918.

To A. G.

This morning I awakened to the sound of birds, and sunshine streams in my windows, and I decided to celebrate by writing to you instead of doing my daily French lesson. I do not think we have had three weeks of sunshine since we have been in France. The climate certainly is horrible, and I am told it is still worse in England.

Still the flowers do bloom in spite of it; the trees are not all out yet in Paris, but the slow spring has its compensations in the thorough enjoyment of each unfolding blossom. The Champs Elysees has been lovely for a month, and now that the horse chestnuts are in bloom I think of our dear old buck-eyes at the Farm, and I feel lonesome. This formal gardening with stiff, regular flower beds makes no appeal to me; I love English parks much better. If it were not for the Seine I would not care for Paris at all. On May Day everyone was presenting little bunches of lilies of the valley to friends for good luck; I had several pathetic little bunches brought me by grateful people.

I expected to get off to Beauvais, but it takes interminable time to get passes to move about. It makes our work very difficult. Margaret Robins has been in Paris for three weeks trying to get papers.

Hannah Hobart is very much excited at the idea of going into a military hospital. Our nurses write me pathetic accounts of our men, and we were asked for ten more nurses yesterday. I have not seen Dick since last September; he seems to be in the thick of this battle, and never has time to write.

You asked in your letter about Mademoiselle De Rose, you will be glad to hear that we have one of our most flourishing dispensaries at her settlement, and I gave her five hundred francs to help send her children to the country. We are all anxious to get the children out of Paris, as so many are killed. Is it not ghastly, a war on children! Think of those killed in their mother's arms when the maternity hospital was shelled! The women were all thrown from their beds, and many babes killed, and the mothers seriously injured.

Last night we sent off sixty children to Evian, as the hospital there is empty. The rapatriés have not been coming in since the big drive started. It is a long trip for the Paris children, twenty-three hours on the train, but I sent a doctor and seven nurses and aids with them.

Paris, May 5, 1918.

To A. G.

I have spent the greater part of the week straightening out the educational course; the first class of "Visitenses l'Enfants," as they are called, is just finishing, and another about to begin. Every individual in the class had quite a different idea of what the obligations of the Red Cross were to her, and of hers to it; the course was not half long enough, covering only a period of six weeks. But all is going smoothly now for the new course.

I have doubled the time, and intend to send the students into our hospitals when they have completed the course, before sending them into the field.

We are giving these instructions in three places, Paris, Lyons, and Marseilles, thirty students in each class, so you see we should in a year turn out a good many French women prepared to take part in the Infant Mortality campaign. A series of twenty lectures is given them by French doctors, besides the lectures given by the nurses. We have one nurse who speaks French fluently for each set of students, besides several others who speak well enough to explain their demonstrations. But you must read the details in my article to Miss Crandall.

Tomorrow I go to Beauvais, where so many of our men are in the French hospitals. I feel quite sure that my place is just where I am. I would willingly turn over every nurse we have to our men if they need it, it seems to me to be our first obligation. Do you think I am right in this? It seems to me that if our own are neglected all the work we do for civilian France will not count.

You ask about the children's clothing; I have not yet heard of the arrival of any, but am sure some must have come as they have it in the warehouse.

I have given up in despair trying to get individuals over here, there are so many stumbling blocks put in the way.

I can not answer your question about how the man with artificial fingers learned to be a clerk. Why not write and ask him?

Paris, May 5, 1918.

To C. S.

The Lucases got off last week, and I miss them very much. I hated to see them leave without me. I suppose I will be over here several years longer from the looks of things.

I am going to Beauvais on Monday where many of our men are being cared for in French hospitals by our nurses, mostly mine, as I have lent them to the Military Affairs of the Red Cross---not to the army. I have also let them have a number of aids, who are most acceptable as they speak French. I wish that I had three times as many aids, but it seems impossible to get them. My aids are a really very exceptionally fine set of girls.

We are beginning to have a few bright days; the sun shines occasionally. I do miss our California sun. It rains or fogs here nine days out of ten, but the trees are out and the flowers in bloom. The Champs Elysees is lovely.

Paris, May 10, 1918.

To C. L.

I fully intended to get up early this morning, and go to St. Germain, where I hear that the woods are full of lovely flowers, but of course it is raining! It rains or is foggy nine days out of ten over here, I am just homesick for some California sunshine. I expected to see at St. Germain, Malmaison, the house where Josephine lived.

In spite of the bad weather the flowers are wonderful now. I wish you could see the flower market near the Madelaine, I walk by there every day. Miss Griffith writes me how lovely everything looks at the Farm. Barbara is there again, and I am glad as I think she has the interests of the place at heart. I wonder how long it will be before we are all there together again. I hope the children have a party on the 16th of June, I am going to send Miss Griffith some money to get something for them. I do not want them to quite forget us, do you.

Last week I went to Beauvais, a town not far from the French lines where our men are fighting. I have been sending a number of my nurses and aids there to care for our men in the French hospitals. They are all mixed up in the wards with the French, so it is not very satisfactory, and of course the French idea of nursing is very different from ours, but the nurses are fine about it all, and do the best they can. They feel it worth while just for the comfort the boys get from talking to them. They often cry when they first see an American, the relief is so great. You see they do not understand what is being done for them, so have no confidence. The French surgeons are very fine and do all in their power for our men, they are kindness itself to them. The other day one died at Gisor, a small town near Beauvais; the whole town turned out to honor him, and they found a Protestant clergyman to read the service. All the school children followed the hearse with flowers, it was most touching. The nurse, one of mine, wrote to his mother all about it. The poor fellow was a Virginian, and sang just before he died, "To Be in Old Virginia."

I saw ever so many wounded from Dick's regiment. I visited twelve hospitals, one thousand beds in each hospital. I think the Red Cross will open a hospital there for our men; we already have a small children's hospital which will be converted into a military one. There is a great difference between the army and the military Red Cross, you must not get them mixed up---when I say military I always mean Red Cross.

More nurses are coming over now, I am glad to say, but not more aids, and the latter are really more important at present, as the nurses who do not speak French are pretty helpless in the French hospitals. Fortunately the nurses who came over first have picked up a good deal.

A French woman came to me yesterday and asked if this was the place where eye tickets were given out, said she had lost her eye when she had measles and would like one. You see they come to the Red Cross for everything. I took her to the dispensary where she got an order for one.

Name of place censored, May 19, 1918.

To A. G.

While awaiting my tempting breakfast which will consist of bad coffee without sugar or cream and bread without butter, I will try at least to begin a letter to you. The loss of my fountain pen certainly was a serious one; you will have to be content with pencil which is most disagreeable, I know.

I had a perfectly heavenly twelve-hour trip here yesterday. The day was perfect, the country so beautiful, and I so nervously tired at the end of an exasperating week. But I do not intend to talk shop this lovely May morning. It is Whit Sunday, and I have decided to spend the day quietly here by myself, going to church and for a walk. I met a very sweet, friendly girl from Kentucky on the train yesterday, whose mother-in-law lives near here at Chateau Neuf. She says it is a wonderfully interesting place built in the time of Louis XI, who slept there one night. I am to go out to tea with her this afternoon. Her mother-in-law was an American, Miss Polk, who married a famous French general.

Tomorrow I will cross to Dinard and inspect the thousand little refugees from Nancy, who have been there for six weeks without a change of clothing, which reminds me that the package of nightgowns arrived from Mrs. Griffith. Thank her and tell her that I will write soon and thank her for them, and for the Easter greeting which was the only one which reached me. Just before leaving Paris I received a letter from Dick, the first since he took his part in the offensive---I cabled his mother--- I can not tell you how relieved I was to see his hand-writing.

The trip was a joy from start to finish. You know how this country looks in spring, all so tenderly beautiful, such a contrast to our mountains, valleys, ravines, and great stretches of plains carpeted with intense colors. This is the perfect time, as the trees are not all out, many just showing feathery green on the swaying branches---I have never seen so many shades of green. Then the fruit blossoms, hawthorne, bridal wreath, and best of all, I thought, fields of buttercups, the only familiar wild flowers I have seen. The genesta is in full bloom, you know how beautiful that is! I am charmed, too, by the absence of fences, the lovely blooming hedges make the division, but it certainly is not humanly speaking economical, as each cow, horse, and pig in France has to have an individual guardian to keep him from going astray; it is too amusing to see them take their animals out for a walk just as people do pet dogs once a day for a constitutional! And the birds, they are so delicious, I have never heard such singing! The flowering hedges are just filled with them. And scattered all through this lovely country the old houses with their tiled and moss-covered roofs only add to the enchantment.

St. Malo, I am told, is lovely. I am looking forward to a day of bliss, away from the sound of guns and "Alerts." I shall try to forget that the world is at war.

Paris, May 26, 1918.

To A. G.

Since writing to you on the train of the beauties and delights of my trip to San Malo I have had an eventful week. I traveled with the Marquise de Charette, who was en route to her country place near San Malo. We became very friendly at the end of a twelve-hour voyage together, so it ended in my spending Sunday afternoon at the most beautiful place I have seen in France, and it was most interesting, too. The Baroness de Charette is the widow of a very famous French general who raised a volunteer regiment of Zouaves to take to Italy to defend the Pope against Garibaldi. His regiment presented him with this beautiful place. It is full of interesting relics of Garibaldi's army, etc. The chateau was built in the time of Louis XI, and is a dream, simply covered with ivy.

Madame Charette was a Miss Polk. She is a woman of about eighty, very well preserved and full of energy; her only son is in the tank service and was wounded some time ago. The tanks, it seems, can only be used in an offensive, this should relieve Millie's mind about Loyall, as we are not apt to have an offensive soon. Madame Charette knew your cousin, Mr. Stone, when she was a girl. She told me with great pride that they were once the only two people outside the royal family at some function in Russia.

We walked through the most heavenly woods you can imagine, where the marguerites, primroses, forget-me-nots, and lillies of the valley grew thick in the high grass. I nearly lost my head with the beauty of it all. It did me lots of good because I found that I had some capacity for enjoyment left in me still. "To him who in the love of nature holds communion with her visible forms, she speaks a various language. She glides into his darker moments with a mild and healing sympathy that steals away the sharpness ere he is aware."

And San Malo, is it not beautiful there? I sat on the ramparts through the long twilight, saw the moon come up over the waters, and in listening to the waves felt less lonely than I have since leaving home. The next morning after this day of relief and bliss I went over to Dinard, where the colony of one thousand children from Nancy are under our medical supervision, these are not under the direct supervision of the Red Cross, but are supposed to be looked after by the Nancy people.

The next day I started direct for Paris, expecting to arrive here that same night, but was diverted by one of the members of the Smith unit who was on her way to Mont St. Michael. I found that I could go with her by taking the night train for Paris. We had a wonderful day together; you know what a miracle that place is, built out of that solid rock. I paid for my pleasure by a night of horror on the train where I stood for three hours, and then got a seat in a second-class carriage between two men, one of whom smoked a pipe all night.

Miss Bliss, the Smith girl, told me a tale of absorbing interest although of horror. She literally took part in the retreat of the British army. Their unit was at Nesle, and they moved back inch by inch as the Boche approached. It was a thrilling experience and all so tragic. This unit had for months kept open house for these men at Nesle, and knew many of them intimately. Most of them were killed or taken prisoners. These very same fleeing men, when they met the French coming to their rescue, turned about and fought splendidly. The Smith unit slowly retreated to Beauvais where they are running a canteen, and visiting our men who are in the French hospitals. They are a fine lot. I am glad I sent Camilla there.

I am going to get up now and go to St. Germain for the day, and try to forget the horrors of war. You asked me why I do not dictate my letters to my stenographer to save time, you must remember that they are all written on Sunday. I am not writing any more to Miss Crandall as she has never acknowledged any I sent her, so I suppose they are not what she wants.

Memorial Day, Paris, 1918.

To L. McL. and C. A. S.

The last three days have been more strenuous than usual. Big Bertha announced the beginning of the new offensive. It is very thoughtful of the Hun to keep us so well informed of his plans. I immediately began sending telegrams to my nurses to report in Paris. I thought I wouldn't wait until a hurry call came for them. Unfortunately Dr. Knox was away so I had to assume a good deal of authority and take a big responsibility as we have not nearly enough nurses at the various hospitals and dispensaries, as it is. While frantic telegrams were coming in for help from our different centers, I was sending equally frantic ones for nurses. Then news from the front came pouring in, calls for help to arrive, and when a conference was called and a demand was made on me for forty nurses, and I was able to produce forty-three instantly, the relief of the Military Affairs Committee was great. Those nurses got off yesterday afternoon in big trucks to the front and I assure you I had a big lump in my throat when 1 saw the last of them. The Boche are systematically trying to get the hospitals, especially the American---the hospital for which half of those nurses were destined was shelled the day before. Our little refugee hospital in the same place had bombs dropped on it a few days ago. One of the nurses wrote me that she had saved a new-born baby by sheltering it in her arms. I will enclose you the letter she wrote. The patients from this hospital have all been evacuated now so I have turned over the staff to the military.

This is one of the most soul-stirring days I have ever spent. In the early morning I read of the Hun advance, that Soissons was taken, of the danger Rheims was in, of the wonderful fighting side by side of the British and French troops, and then to cheer and give us hope, of the splendid fighting and success of our men, who in the midst of this general retreat actually made some advance. Madame Gotz told me about it with tears in her eyes. A French officer had telephoned to her, she said to me when I met her at church, "My dear, it was so magnificent, I am proud of my country." She has lived over here for fifty years. The boys went over the top as cheerfully as if they were playing baseball. My nurses went eagerly to the front.

Those few who were left behind were in tears. After they left there was a few moments lull, so I slipped into the American Church for the Memorial Day service. I longed for you both. It was the most wonderful and inspiring service I ever attended. The church was beautifully decorated with poppies, bluets and white sweet peas. When the boys marched up the aisle carrying on high their standards, followed by a number with shouldered arms singing the "Son of God Goes Forth to War," it was all the congregation could do to refrain from kneeling down to conceal their tears. They looked so big and fine and grave and handsome and we knew they were, too, for we had just been reading of their glorious fighting which has done much to keep up the morale of the allies, as they say all the time "more like them are pouring over." And just think of it, my dear sisters, your boys are right there, taking a splendid part in this great struggle which is going to settle the destiny of the world for so many generations to come. How proud you must be of them, I have some little idea of your feelings as I have such a feeling of pride, when I say, "I have four nephews at the front," now that Rogers is here, I count the fourth. I had a note from him.

The hymn was followed by the reading of the President's message, some solemn music rendered by an English military band, then a sort of requiem service which we realized would be the only service which would be read for some of our boys. Finally the three national anthems were sung with a fervor I have never heard before. You would both have felt upheld and uplifted in this great sacrifice you are daily making, if you could have seen the shining faces of those men and boys who are going forth to fight for justice, truth and liberty. Be of good courage and remember that I am at hand always and ready to go to them if they need me.

Paris, June 1, 1918.

To A. G.

Big Bertha is booming again this morning, a report was so loud a moment since that it nearly startled me out of bed. As you know the second drive is on, and we are rushing nurses to the front.

Our work is suffering terribly by it. For instance, I have been calling nurses to Paris for several weeks, knowing that they would suddenly be needed. Yesterday the Military Affairs sent in a call for twenty nurses, fortunately most of my nurses are available.

Paris, June 2, 1918.

To A. G.

I wrote you in my last of the queer pain I had in my arm and throat which I thought was rheumatism. Well, after half a night's rest it was much better. I had quite made up my mind that I would spend Sunday in bed, but after hearing a tale of tragedy from one of my guests, I got up and went out to the American Ambulance, where I knew I could find out the true state of affairs. There I found every corner filled with our wounded, but they were getting on all right, very grateful to me for the help sent, I sent out some of the Paris dispensary nurses to help for a few days. I am going to hang on to some of the Paris nurses as long as possible as they fit into all kinds of emergencies. I think my mission in life at present is to do odd jobs, and am hauling in nurses from all sides. I met a canteen worker the other day who told me she was a graduate nurse, but not in the Red Cross because she had no obstetrics! I explained to her that this was no maternity job, and had her signed up before she knew where she was. I gathered in eight last week who were not connected with us. Anne Morgan has a number of floating people and the American fund contributed three. I am so grateful for my promiscuous acquaintanceship; Mrs. Lathrop, Willie Gwin, Anne Morgan, Mrs. Vanderbilt are all useful people to know.

June 5.

No time to finish the other morning. I have had a mad sort of day. Most unsatisfactory, except that I found a dozen more nurses for our men.

At five o'clock I saw our nurses and aids off to the front, realizing that some may never return. It was a big responsibility sending those aids who had come for children's work, but they were eager to go and I think it is their right to volunteer for such service just as their brothers do.

We hear better news tonight, but so far nothing official.

Paris, June 12, 1918.

To E. C. G.

I have been really nursing at last. I have been going to the American Ambulance at Neuilly every day helping out. When our Marines went so suddenly into the fight at Chateau Thierry, our hospitals weren't prepared for the large number of wounded that suddenly and unexpectedly arrived, it was terrible. The hospital at Neuilly almost over night increased from 600 to 1,500 beds. The nurses were routed out of their beds at eleven p. m., one night, and wounded from the operating room brought right in. You can't imagine anything like it. The slightly wounded were sent away at quickly as possible to make room for more, consequently there was a continuous stream of stretchers going and coming. The men were perfectly splendid. I never saw a finer lot of boys, they really are boys, very few even twenty-one years old, many seventeen. The engineers did splendid work, they just threw aside their picks and shovels, and fought to the death. Really even our papers can't exaggerate the courage and spirit of those boys. The French are wild over them. Strangers meet us on the street and embrace us in gratitude, it is most embarrassing, as we all feel as a nation that we can't do enough. The boys talk freely to me while I do their dressings, make beds, etc. It is really so extraordinary to hear them recount their killing of men. I can't get over the shock. When I ask the men how they feel when they just kill a man, they say it generally happens after they have seen some of their comrades killed, and rage fills their hearts. I think it all too dreadful, but how they can unflinchingly face that deadly machine gun fire, and see thousands mowed down before them, I can't understand. The doctors and orderlies are so tender with the men, the stretcher bearers handle them so lovingly, it is very touching. The thing that upsets me more than anything else is their simple gratitude. Most of these boys come from good homes, and they have found this last year in the trenches pretty difficult. Very few gentle words have been spoken to them and they have suffered so many real hardships, such as having no water for days, being without food, sleeping in damp ditches, etc., that in spite of their wounds, the hospital seems like heaven. I wish I had time to write you more fully of it. I enclose a small donation for the Ross Chapel, use it as you like.

Paris, June 13, 1918.

To A. G.

Not since I left home has no long a period elapsed without my writing, but when I tell you the cause you will understand and forgive. Last week I got so upset over the stories of wounded (it was just after the Marines had fought so splendidly near Chateau Thierry) that I just went out to the American Ambulance, saw for myself the conditions, and offered my services, which were thankfully accepted. Then I went back and asked for a vacation, which was granted me by Dr. Knox most sympathetically, he knowing that I would not ask for one at this time unless I absolutely needed it. After making the leave safe I told him my plan.

Well, I have been through a week of horror, but thankfulness, too, that I have the training which enables me to relieve a little of this suffering. I can not write to you about it, but you will appreciate somewhat the nursing situation when I tell you that I had a tent containing thirty-six men turned over to me, eighteen of whom had been admitted in the night, and many of whom had been operated on, four coming out of ether when I arrived, and no nurse had been near them, there being none to send. Convalescent patients were looking out for them in a fashion. The hospital in a few days almost doubled in size. Twenty nurses were promised six weeks ago but have not arrived yet. One takes care of sixty-four patients, assisted by three aids.

Of course at the end of a day of these dreadful sights, the unaccustomed lifting, bending, etc., I am almost exhausted, but I sleep well and wake more rested than I have for a long time.

En route to Rouen, June 22, 1918.

To A.G.

It is a difficult matter to write on the trains as they are hopelessly jerky, but I am going to try to write to you a sort of progressive letter, writing at the stations. Oh! for a fountain pen! I am really lost without one. I have bought two and both no good.

The work became so light at the Ambulance at the end of my second week that I decided to take a few days off and inspect our dispensary at Rouen. It is for refugees at the station. Rouen is in the English war zone, and two of our base hospitals are there. The town has been bombarded for several weeks now, we hear that Big Bertha's efforts have been directed there instead of on Paris.

I have just been talking to an English officer; he asked me if the Fifth Marines had been in the fight at Chateau Thierry, he has been with them near Verdun. I answered "Yes, the Fifth was almost wiped out, in one instance only four men being left in a company." They are composed of young, ardent boys who think the world is theirs, as I wrote you before they range in age from seventeen to twenty. If you ask one if he was not afraid or if he can bear the pain of a dreadful wound, the answer always is: "Why, I am a Marine !"

A Frenchman yesterday told me that he had received a letter from a friend from the trenches with the following characteristic tale in it: Two reconnoitering parties of ten each had been sent out in opposite directions. The French, having accomplished their mission returned to the base, but it was a long time before anything was seen of the Americans, who finally appeared triumphant with a number of prisoners. It seems that they had gone where they were sent, to the first line of trenches, but seeing no one, they penetrated to the second line, captured some prisoners, and then returned as things began to get too hot for them. Now, much of this kind of thing is really foolhardy, but the moral effect of their young enthusiasm upon these tired allied armies is really a reviving force which seems to make the sacrifice worth while. The French simply hug them in delight, particularly here where they are placed between the oncoming hordes of barbarians and Paris.

It does not seem possible with the present grim determination set against it that the Boche will ever enter Paris. Did I write you the answer a Frenchman made the other day to a Red Cross worker who asked him if he thought the Boche would come to Paris? "Did you ever see a pig in the streets of Paris? No? Well, you never will!"

Sunday A. M., Rouen.

What a beautiful, interesting place this is, but one's pleasure in seeing these wonderful churches, monuments, and public buildings is destroyed by the ever-present fear that at any moment the Boche big gun, which is now trained on Rouen, may destroy in the twinkling of an eye beauty which it has taken centuries to create, and which the hand of man is powerless to reproduce. It is strange how one trembles with fear for these wonderful historic monuments while the thought of personal danger is very remote.

I climbed to the top of the cathedral tower, the first time I have done such a thing in France, always having a vivid recollection of how my knees ached when descending the Mission tower at Santa Barbara. I climbed the tower with a very pleasant English officer, and he and I forgot the war, and reminiscenced on the beauties of Rome. I think this place is more full of historic interest and beauty than any other town I have visited, but one can not forget the war for long as the British Tommies fill the streets. I met a very enthusiastic American woman who has been married ten years to a Frenchman, and she acted as my guide.

The refugees came in here in hordes two weeks ago, but now it is pretty quiet. We have a dispensary at the station, a doctor and nurse in charge. The doctor here is the sister of Mr. Coolidge who was at Burlingame for so long.

To return to Rouen, I am particularly enthusiastic over the Palace of justice which I think is a perfect public building, it is so wonderfully harmonious. And do you remember the little church of St. Maclou quite near the Cathedral? It is strange that the English are finally here allies with their ancient enemies, the French, in the very spot where they captured Joan of Arc and burned her so many centuries ago. The French are very enthusiastic over the Americans as fighters. A Frenchman explained to me the difference between American and British the other day; he said that if a company of French or American men lost their officers they would go right on just the same, but when the English lost their officers they lost their heads.

There are thousands of women laborers here doing men's work; they are dreadful looking people, hard-featured and very bold expressions. The V. A. D.'s are most attractive just like my aids, who really are the flower of our civil army here. Nine of them returned from a French hospital where they have been for six weeks, Hannah H. and Margaret Robins among them. The former is a perfect dear, so simple and genuine. We all dined together before they left again for the front, and included Mary Eyre, who is installed at the American Ambulance, taking histories for the home service.

Paris, June 26, 1918.

To C. A. S. and L. McL.

After a three weeks' letter famine it was with joy that today I received an accumulated mail consisting of 22 letters, wasn't that wonderful? I had a perfect feast. Miss Maxwell and Miss Dabney have also arrived laden with packages and news for me, so I feel very happy and close to you all. The war news is more encouraging, too, the feeling here is that America has shown what her men can do, although they have not spent their lives in the study and art of killing men. They learn so quickly and are so eager to be taught, that it is half the battle. We are so proud of them, I know you will often think that much that you read of their wonderful work is newspaper talk but I assure you that nothing we say surpasses what the French say of them. I overheard a party of Frenchmen talking the other night at a restaurant and one said, and they all agreed, that in the time to come when history would tell the tale, that Belgium and America would get the credit for saving democracy and liberty, and that Wilson would have a widespread fame, second only to that of Christ. Every one here simply idolizes Wilson, they think him the greatest prophet of democracy that the world has ever seen.

Paris, June 27, 1918.

To A. G.

You know my feeling of relief and joy when at last after a three weeks' fast all your letters came. I was the envy of the whole office, I always am, for no one has such true and devoted friends as I have.

I was so glad to hear about the Red Cross parade; half a dozen people wrote me, "I will not tell you about it, as Alice surely will." Curiously enough you never mentioned it until it was over. I would have given a great deal to have seen our Telegraph Hill mothers march---that was a real triumph. The whole thing must have been inspiring.

I must tell you that I have had a change of heart in regard to the service flags after reading a letter one of our wounded boys had from home. His mother wrote, "My flag has two stars, and in each star I see the face of my boy." Outward and visible signs do not mean to me, I fear, as much as they should. For instance there is a service stripe given over here for every six months of service; now, it does not appeal to me at all to wear on my sleeve the advertisement of the fact that I have for six months been doing an obvious duty.

As to the nurses, it is really difficult to have hospitals ready at every point because, of course, no one but old Hindenburg knows just where the attack will be made, and he won't tell! For instance, we rushed all our nurses to a certain point when one attack was on; they did magnificent, heroic work for two weeks in a hospital which was being shelled, and now for three weeks have had nothing to do as that sector has been very quiet. If they are withdrawn, tomorrow the sector may become the center of the conflict, and we would again be unprepared.

I have a real feeling for the first time that the end is in sight. Our men have made such a splendid showing, and are coming over so rapidly that I believe the Huns will not be willing to enter upon another spring campaign.

Paris, July 9, 1918.

To A. G.

On Sunday I wrote you at intervals pretty much all day, and now I have lost the letter, which is really a great bore, as it is so difficult to write the same thing again.

The 4th celebration in Paris made that day a never to be forgotten one to those who were privileged to take part in the ceremonies. For a week before we watched with the deepest interest the preparations which were made all over the city, in fact all over France. The Stars and Stripes decorated every building, you know how beautifully they arrange the flags in the shields. Our flag was placed in the center, flanked on each side by French flags. To our delight the nurses were asked by the French government to march in the parade. It was the first time women have ever marched in a parade in Paris. We formed in the Place de la Trocadero at 8:45 a. m. I carried the flag, it was the proudest moment of my life, in fact don't think I ever had that proud feeling before. But when we fell in line behind the Marines, our band playing Dixie and I held that banner on high to the cheers of the crowd "Vive l'Amerique," I really felt that I had reached the supreme moment of my life. You can't, or I rather think you can, imagine the exalted sensation of marching through that sea of cheering people, throwing flowers before us, and every now and then some one would dart from the crowd, saying: "I want to touch that flag, I love it so,---the flowers are for it." That kind of thing happened not once but many times. Our splendid Marines got the ovation they deserved. When we marched by the grand stand where Joffre, Clemenceau, Lloyd-George, and the President were seated, I dipped the flag following the instructions of an army officer. I was terribly excited doing that as I had to keep step at the same time, count spaces, etc., and see the flag didn't touch. After it was over another army officer told me that I shouldn't have dipped the flag, that only regimental colors were dipped, not the flag,---it got dipped anyway, correct or not. Miss Maxwell marched at my side with the Red Cross flag. She marched like a young girl, we did not disband till 12 m., so you see it was very fatiguing. The nurses made quite a good appearance, Norfolk suits, black sailors and white turn-over collars, very severe, but I thought very dignified. There were 120, all the night nurses from the Paris hospitals and our Paris dispensary nurses.

In the afternoon we went to the Ambassadeurs Restaurant, Ave. Gabrielle, where the American Fund for French Wounded had a wonderful entertainment for our wounded, they were all brought in ambulances from the hospitals, the poor fellows were a tragic lot, so many limbs gone, but they were wonderfully cheerful and so gentle and tender with each other. Mrs. Lathrop managed it all beautifully, she is a most capable woman and has been a very useful friend to me.

Miss Maxwell and I decided to finish the day at the Charmaunt Palace where a mammoth entertainment was given for our boys. It was really a great sight, about 3,000 of our men packed in that great place, an American band playing familiar airs (familiar to them not to me) and Elsie Janis (the idol of our army) stand there before them all, telling funny stories, dancing or singing. The applause would nearly raise the roof, it was deafening, but such a relief after the tense days we have all been through; the second half of the program was boxing, I can't say I enjoyed it, but I was amused at Miss Maxwell who so caught the spirit of the occasion that she sat beside me shouting with the boys, "That's right, give it to him." We had a little dinner before going, just six of us and I produced the fruit cake you sent to celebrate with, it was really very good in spite of the tin and we all enjoyed it. I called it Porter's birthday cake.

The next morning early I left for Dijon, Miss Maxwell had left for Tours before my return. I had such a good time at Dijon with Loyall Sewall who spent two days with me. I met his Major just before leaving Paris and he telegraphed to Loyall, who is stationed in that vicinity, two days' leave,---wasn't it fine? He looked splendidly and is in the best of spirits. I will enclose a letter from Dick, which I think also sounds very cheerful.

I am saving my vacation, hoping to be able to join him in the near future somewhere, for a few days. We are supposed to have two weeks' vacation at the end of every six months. I have taken a week of mine when I went to the hospital at Neuilly. I don't feel the need of it but would like a few days with Dick.

I saw Miss Johnston from San Francisco at Dijon. I lent her to the canteen there, she is doing fine work.

Paris, July 10, 1918.

To A. G.

Such a good batch of letters yesterday-in addition to the faithfuls who never neglect me (you, Camilla, Linie and Millie) one from Laura McKinstry and Ethel Beaver, both very characteristic and interesting. I remember so well that little boy Purcell Jones---he used to play in the most fascinating way with the pansies in his garden; I am sure he is an artist.

All that you write me of the Well Babies Clinic is deeply interesting. Are you keeping any kind of statistics so that we can prove that we have reduced the death rate in that neighborhood? I do not believe it would be possible to prove this, as I doubt if the San Francisco Vital Statistics are kept in districts as they are here.

Most of our nurses are in the French hospitals where our men are. They get on surprisingly well; the public health nurses get on better than the army nurses as they are more adaptable. Did I ever tell you that I had picked out a nurse to take home with me? Miss Bears, from Waltham---she is doing splendid work now in the Service de Santé. I am sure Miss Johnson will like her. Hope the salary will be ready for her in four years. One year of that five I came for has passed ---it seems like ten.

We all hope for a fine 14th celebration. The next time I march with that flag it will be through the Arch de Triumph with the Kaiser in chains at my side! We are so proud of the way that our men are coming over, and I am told by the quartermaster that our army is self-supporting, besides having much surplus for the French. In truth it is a miracle when I think of how impossible all declared it to be.

The army has the utmost confidence in Pershing. I think it is so wonderful that we have proved again (the last time in '76) that it does not take years of military training---the necessity of keeping up a big military establishment---to fight successfully for right and win against veterans. The French and English say that our men fight just as well as the seasoned troops, and with much more enthusiasm. Of course these poor fellows are worn out, but so are the Germans. Just let the numbers keep up and victory is in sight---I feel sure of it although we probably have some hard days ahead.

The following letter portrays so vividly the work the nurses and aids are called upon to perform that it is inserted here.

Beauvais, July 11, 1918.

Dear Miss Ashe.

I've been meaning to write you for a long time but somehow its about all I can accomplish to get off my weekly letter to the family. There is so much to do when work is over. I wish clean collars and cuffs would grow on uniforms during the night.

The last time I really wrote you was when we were so busy with our 122 gassed. As they began to be evacuated and the work let up, Miss Christians and Miss Hoadley were sent to Field 12 so Miss Wilson and I had our hands full again. The night of the 28th was fearful in regard to bombs. After a second attack I went up stairs to bed but was no sooner in that Madame Jiller called me to say that a brancardier had come to say they wanted me at the hospital at once. I dressed and went out into the inky black deserted street. I will have to admit that I ran all the way there and kept my head more or less ducked as the shrapnel had only just stopped clattering on the street. I opened the door of the entrance room and by the dim light of one shaded lamp saw it crowded with stretchers and all around the edge wounded sitting up. They were all Americans. The bombs began dropping again outside and I began to go through the necessary admitting papers for them. Not one complained---I was so proud of them before the French clerks. They had come straight from the front, Cantigny, without any stop at a field hospital, with just their gory first aid dressings on. It took from 12:30 to 7:30 a. m. to get them all done and that was working perfectly steadily. More kept filling in throughout the night.

The next day you can easily imagine that we were busy. Miss Wilson had, I think, twenty new gas cases whom she had not only to dress but to wash, besides her old ones and I was running from one place to another interpreting, of course had to work some in the gas ward. One boy only died that day. That night eleven more came in from Field 12, all were very bad abdomen and chest cases. The gas boys were all evacuated during the next few days but for a while we had more Americans than they did at the American Hospital. Finally there were about sixty-five wounded left, scattered through all the wards. Miss Wilson went on night duty in the ward with the worst ones. Joli Clark took a whole week to die in the most awful pain. He was the nicest, bravest boy and we both could hardly bear it. All his last night he called Miss Wilson "Mother." She kept being called by orderlies from other wards for different patients and so was more than busy. I interpreted for patients, doctors and nurses, till I really didn't know whether I was speaking French or English. It was the greatest satisfaction, though, to be able to get them fixed up. Sometimes the smallest things which they wanted but couldn't explain seemed to make the boys perfectly contented.

Finally by the 11th of June when the big rush of French wounded came, there were only five Americans left. That night Miss Headley and Miss Wilson went to the American Hospital. I'd been on during the day but everyone was so swamped with work that I stayed and it wasn't until 5:30 a. m. that we got the last of the poor, half-dead, men off their stretchers and into bed. We all three went back in the morning and washed them, etc. They had been 200 behind in the operating room the night before so you can imagine the condition of many of them. All we'd been able to do the night before was to cut their clothes off and lift them into bed. There was one American and he was dying. Miss Headley stayed with him all afternoon and I went home to sleep. Miss Headley and Miss Wilson had to be on call again for the American Hospital during the night, so at 8 I went on with MacKenzie. He came from Lexington and all through till morning when he wasn't delirious we talked about home. He died, after Miss Headley came on, at 7:30. I felt awfully as he was so nice and very pathetically homesick.

After these things died down, we had about a week with very little to do, when Miss B. and Miss H. and Miss W. were suddenly sent off to Paris and I was left very much alone, but luckily went right to work at No. 14 at the top of the hill and was very much occupied, being day nurse for three boys, two Americans and one Frenchman. They told me all three were probably going to die, but thank goodness they didn't. After a week Miss Candish and I changed and I was on night duty there for five nights when as they didn't need me any more I took Mrs. Clarke's place on night duty at the American Hospital. There I am now and probably will be until August. I am very flourishing and happy and my only cross is that I can never seem to rid myself of the smell of Dakins. I have to inject it every two hours all night and get so saturated that I have to use cologne before going to bed in the morning. I have twelve boys and like them all and as they all seem to be improving, the ward is more cheerful every day.

I hear you carried out your plan of nursing through your vacation. I'm sure you must have loved it but hope you're getting a little rest in somewhere on the side. There was nothing very restful about the office as I remember it.

How is Miss Weaver, and also Miss Hawley and all the rest? Give them my best love. Perhaps when this night duty is over I'll get a day or two in Paris and can come and see you all. Will you come to a meal at Pruniers with me?

I must stop and get dressed. Nothing I can say can tell you how glad I've been to be here for these two months. Thank you a hundred times for sending me.

Looking forward to seeing you at the end of the month,

Affectionately,

FRANCES WEBSTER.

Paris, July 14, 1918.

To A. G.

This is to be a great day. I am at present in. a room at the Red Cross, just on the corner of the Place de la Concorde and the Rue Royale. We have a splendid view---the Madelaine and the Place. The crowd is immense in spite of the fact that Paris is supposed to be empty. Everyone seems excited and jubilant ---one would think a big victory was being celebrated. A delegation has just passed bearing a big wreath to be placed on the Alsace Lorraine Statue. Miss Maxwell is with me and as enthusiastic as a young girl---she is so satisfactory to do things with.

Some day we will all be celebrating the final victory---will it bring the world peace? I doubt it. It will just bring about a long exhausted period of rest when strength will be stored for a future combat. This sounds pessimistic, but I begin to believe that it is inherent in man to fight.

Later.

The parade has passed, and we have cheered and shouted until we are exhausted. There seemed to be some special reason for cheering each company as it passed by, and a French girl expressed our feelings when she darted from under the arm of the gendarmes, and kissed each standard-bearer. The English, American, Italian, Poles, Serbs, Greeks, Australians, Canadians, New Zealanders, and even Portuguese made up the parade. Of course flowers were freely given; the poilus were literally laden, their knapsacks full and bunches on the ends of bayonets---our men are not allowed to carry them. The English marched the best and they made a splendid showing.

In the afternoon I went to the Trocadero where a big patriotic meeting was held. Twelve of our aids helped sell programs. Viviani was the orator of the day, and most of the program was taken up with eulogies of America. I was terribly disappointed in the singing of the Marseillaise at the end. There was an immense crowd, and I expected something stirring, but no one joined in with chorus who sat on the stage, and a group of Frenchmen behind me talked all the time the soloist was singing it.

All night last night we could hear the big guns at the front and Big Bertha has been shelling us all day. I have not heard what damage has been done---people pay very little attention to it. Now that the moon is visiting us again I suppose the air raids will begin.

Paris, July 18, 1918.

To L. McL.

Yesterday I wrote you a letter so this will be just a few lines to tell you that Mary Eyre met a man from Dick's regiment yesterday and that he gave a fine report of Dick, had seen him the day before and that he is up for his lieutenantcy, had passed his physical and there seemed to be no doubt about the result of the mental I hope he gets a leave soon. I am saving mine to join him somewhere.

I have had such sweet letters from the Farm children telling me about my birthday. Porter was there, took the children some candy. Frank, Mrs. Griffith's chauffeur, gave the children a phonograph in honor of the day. Wasn't that touching? One little girl wrote me "You do not know me, but I wish to thank you for the book you sent me and tell you what a lovely time we. had at your party, but the day seemed out of place without you." Wasn't that charmingly expressed? Little Camille wrote such a nice letter and Patsy, with his poor little crippled hands, writes remarkably well I like to think of them all having such happy times on the Farm. I wonder how long it will be before I wander through the vegetable garden with Camille expounding the wonders of it to me; no vegetables here taste so good as those. The artichokes are impossible, huge, big old things impossible to eat anything but the heart. The peaches and cherries are delicious, the rest of the fruit poor and so expensive, strawberries (large ones very tasteless) were one franc a piece, season very short, there were none in the market after June 20th and peaches 5 francs a piece at small places, 3 at the cheaper. I bought none, they are cheaper now, 1 franc. Food is very plentiful, but very high, 3 meatless days, very little sugar, otherwise all you want if you pay for it. It costs us $100 per month to live, hotel and laundry, we wash small pieces.

We hear that the boys in this battle are not so badly wounded as the Marines were in May.