PARIS, August 9, 1916.

After we sighted land, it was only a matter of a couple of hours before we arrived at the mouth of the Gironde, fascinating with two tall lighthouses on either side of the entrance. The country side, too, was fascinating, with everything wonderful and green, the shores white with sand and big châteaux here and there with red roofs.

It was about a five-hour trip up the river, ---a river filled with boats and a few torpedo boats. At the mouth of the river we lost our convoy of seven torpedo boats. We docked at Bordeaux about eleven at night, but no one was there except the usual men about a dock, and no one was allowed to land.

At the right of the dock we could see a huge German prison camp, which was tremendously interesting to watch from the boat. Moll was sound asleep when we docked, and I turned in about midnight, deciding that Marlborough was probably coming down on the night train from Paris. This he did. He arrived about nine Monday morning, and you know our joy of seeing him. He used his military pass, and was allowed to walk right aboard.

We left the ship about noon; his pass caused only a chalk mark on all my luggage and nothing was opened. I never saw so much wine in my life as we saw there; there were squares where there were millions of casks, and trucks and wagons filled with nothing else on the streets. We went to a hotel which was fascinating, but reminded me so much of Manila. There we stayed until train time. Our first glimpse of soldiers was in Bordeaux, which seemed full of them, hundreds just back from the trenches, with their horizon-blue uniforms and their trench helmets, and all covered with white dust as to boots and clothes, and endless others who were just going back to the battle front.

We took the one o'clock train and were fortunate in getting a compartment to ourselves, so that the nine hours on the train, although hot, passed quickly. At every station officers and soldiers of every Allied country got on and off, and at the stations Red Cross nurses were there with food, water, and aid for any who wished it. It was all tremendously impressive.

We arrived in Paris at ten-thirty and were met by Captain and Mrs. B-----, who had a car and brought us up here to this hotel, where Marlborough had moved a week ago. It is on rue Belloy, on one corner of the Place Etats-Unis.

Yesterday morning after our breakfast in our rooms, Marlborough went for the trunks and Moll and I wandered out down avenue Kléber to the Arc de Triomphe. We lunched here early and had fine things to eat, but so much! I shall be fat in a week, stuffing in this fashion. After luncheon we wandered out to the shopping district, where I purchased two lovely handmade waists, at about 24 francs each, which these days means $4. Lack of having any fresh waists but what I had on made this purchase necessary.

At four we went to the Café de la Paix. Never could I tell you of the procession of uniforms which went by. Before the war apparently Paris was filled with Americans, Germans, English, and everything else; now it seems nothing but French, and absolutely everything breathes of the war, which is going on only sixty miles away. The wounded are everywhere and military motors are dashing along with men in uniforms, on every street. And nearly every woman not in black is with a man in uniform. But everywhere are women with their French mourning, a long crêpe veil, too pathetic, as you see them by the score.

Marlborough received orders this morning to go to the front for about five days on the 19th, this time to Verdun. So in the next ten days I have to do some map study and some electric-car and metro study.

Paris is wonderful. I am impressed with the vastness and solidity of all the buildings. They look as if they were built once and for all time. We are about to take tea with the C-----s somewhere. My love to you all and I wish you all could see and feel the war spirit of this wonderful city.

PARIS, August 12, 1916.

If I could only remember to buy a pen how much happier I should be; this French one looks like a flamingo's beak.

Thursday morning Mrs. B came in her sister's large limousine and took Moll and me to see the apartment at 3 rue Verdi again. We were more delighted than ever with it. In the afternoon we left cards for Admiral and Mrs. C---- and Mr. and Mrs. H-----. This French custom of making the first call is too curious, but I suppose I shall get used to it: the stranger has to make the first call. Then we stopped at the Terrace Café Fouquet, and such a sight, --- uniforms and medals.

Yesterday was Marlborough's birthday, the first we had celebrated together for a good many years. At noon C----- blew in, looking stunning in his Belgian uniform. He quite insisted that we lunch with him, but as it was his last day with his family, before going back to the front, I would n't hear of it.

As we were dining out, I had a birthday luncheon for Marlborough and Moll at Petit Durand, a marvelous spot, with wonderful food. The place was filled with officers and American Ambulance men. At six we asked C----- to meet us at Fouquet's. Captain B joined us, and we sat for about an hour listening to C----'s tales. He had his curious "truck-effect" automobile he came in from the front and he took us down to the Embassy and then brought us up here. Moll was waiting here for our return and was thrilled to see us come flying up in this great war car. She got in with us and had Marlborough take a picture.

At eight we dined with Mr. and Mrs. H-----, and their son who is a captain in the British service at the Plaza Hotel. The other guests were Sir Thomas Barclay and Captain and Mrs. S---- of the Marine Corps. The latter was an opera singer, belonging to the Théâtre-Comique here. For five years she was in comic opera with Francis Wilson and the last five or six years has been starring in Grand Opera in Paris and on the continent, known as Mme. Sylva. She interested me hugely and is beautiful to look at. She told me to come and have tea with her Tuesday and she would sing for me.

The H-----s are fine, and young H----- looked very smart in a perfectly new British captain's uniform. He is the man who stood in water for seventy-six hours, laying the cable, that Marlborough wrote to me about before I came over. A few months ago, as he was sitting in his room in Ypres dining with two friends, with his dog at his feet and a Tommy servant standing behind him, an aeroplane dropped a bomb on the house, killed his two friends and the Tommy servant. Needless to say the little cur dog is his best friend and he was with him last night. You could hardly believe half of the tales he has to tell. We had a marvelous dinner and a wonderfully good time; everyone is so interesting.

To-day we lunched with Captain and Mrs. P-----. When we go out, one of the two women who own this little place eats with Moll. She speaks English. Last night she took Moll out on the avenue du Bois de Boulogne after dinner, and she is going to take her out again to-night, as we dine with Major L-----. I feel that I am living in quite a social whirl, but it is just a case of another American turning up, and Marlborough's friends are doing many nice things for me.

We have decided to take the wonderful apartment at 3 rue Verdi which is on the Bois, off rue Henri Martin.

I stopped writing here yesterday for so many aeroplanes were flying over our heads that I just had to hang out on the balcony. When you see them in bunches it is quite thrilling.

Last night we dined with Major L----- at D'Armenonville. Is n't that a marvelous place? It was a glorious night with a full moon, and the place was a picture. With the time changed it is fairly light at eight o'clock, but as soon as it got dark and the place rather brilliantly illuminated, they stretched, like drop curtains on a stage, big curtains all along the front and across the entrance, and from an outer row of trees surrounding the place, to shield the light from being a brilliant spot for the German aeroplanes. You understand these curtain effects are not within fifty or a hundred yards of the pavillon, for of course at this season practically all the tables are in the garden. It has wonderful food but, I imagine, wonderful prices as well.

After dinner we motored in the Bois and then down town to see Notre Dame by moonlight; it was glorious.

Paris is wonderful. The atmosphere of being in this place with the nation at war, is something indescribable. I wish you were all here to feel it.

This letter is somewhat disconnected, but I write at odd moments when I have the chance; when I get into my own home I shall try and do better.

4 RUE BELLOY, PARIS, August 18, 1916.

You see we are still here although we took over the keys to our apartment yesterday and moved our trunks there. I wish you could have seen us in the act of moving, --- one horse in a tiny coupé, and the three of us, and on top my two trunks, Marlborough's long uniform trunk, his steamer trunk and two field lockers.

Moll and I are to stay here over Sunday, and Marlborough leaves for the front, Bar-le-Duc and Verdun in the morning, and will return in a week. In the meantime Moll and I will try and have our new apartment running smoothly, and a home of our own in Paris established.

I find I can get about without any trouble in the metro and surface cars, and yet I expect to get lost and find myself many times this next week. I find that looking about for small but necessary household things takes more time, and more French, than doing any sight-seeing.

I had to use the pocket dictionary, all my French and fluent use of both hands, to buy and have sent two dozen coat-hangers.

If I had lived at a house number higher than ten I couldn't have had anything sent. To-day I had to go back and get some more, but my French was so fluent the man looked alarmed!

I must go back to Sunday when I finished a disconnected letter to Esther. That day at three we took a funny little train out to Beaucrisson where the M----'s car met us, and we motored to Salle St. Cloud to their beautiful country-place. They asked us out for tea and for supper, and we had a most delightful time. Moll had a glorious time with the three children, two boys and a girl. We took the nine o'clock train back, having had a delightful Sunday in the country, and as it was rather hot we appreciated it all the more.

Monday I was delighted to have discovered a wonderful French cook, with excellent references, though she couldn't speak a word of English. I engaged her and had her meet me at the apartment to see what was needed. I listed what she wanted, told her to stock the house and to expect Moll and me for luncheon on Monday. I was greatly relieved, but yesterday she sent word to me that she had a chance to take a position with a duchess, which speaks for itself, and I am still looking for another French treasure. So my first French cook left before she came, which sounds Irish! Monday afternoon we went to Mrs. M----'s for tea. She is at 3 rue Verdi, and it is her daughter's apartment we have taken.

Tuesday was Assumption Day, and everything was closed as it was a feast day. In the afternoon we took a boat up the Seine to Châtelet, and then hoped to go inside Notre Dame, but we couldn't get in, so we wandered along Boulevard St. Michel and got another type of Parisian life which was most entertaining. We sat down in one of those terrace restaurants, and watched the procession of curiosities. Moll knew some of them were dressed up in fancy dress! But just when you are amused at some freak woman, comes this never-ending procession of cripples, armless, legless, and blind and distorted faces. Oh, it is so pathetic, yet they all look cheerful. Often you see both an arm and a leg gone, and the other day in the Bois three soldiers and a girl were driving by, and one man had both legs and one arm gone, yet they were all happy and jolly and glad to be alive.

Wednesday I spent in shops and engaging a housemaid. I have one Mrs. M-----recommended; she is English, ---that is her father was; her mother was a Russian, and she has always lived in France, ---some combination! She speaks French but can speak English, is about forty, and has been a nursery governess at times, so will be excellent in taking Moll about and to school, and to see the girls. I don't believe this one will forsake me for a duchess, but at present I have n't a cook in sight.

In the evening Tom R----- met us at Fouquet's and dined with us at St. Cécile. After dinner we went to the Rotonde to see a little touch of Latin Quarter life. But at ten-thirty Paris absolutely closes; not only bars but everything closes its doors and every light is out. You could n't get or stay in any of these places after ten-thirty to save your life. You see it is on account of Zeppelins, and it is a military law, so no one questions, no one tries to evade the law and no one complains, but all understand.

So at ten-thirty the Paris world is not one of eating, drinking, and bright lights, but through partly lit streets people are wandering home or to some private house. Even there it is a law that the heavy inside curtains must be drawn over the windows when lights are lighted.

No one worries about air raids, but of course people realize that precautions must be taken. Aeroplanes are flying about overhead day and night, patrolling and watchfully waiting, and at times they are as numerous as the taxis below.

Yesterday morning we went to the Hôtel des Invalides and saw General Cousin decorate about a hundred officers and men with the Legion of Honor and Croix de Guerre medals, and about fifty relatives of deceased heroes. It was the most thrilling but most pathetic ceremony I ever went to. One could n't see it without the tears streaming down and yet it was most inspiring. The escort troops formed on two sides of the inside court, then the band struck boldly forth with the Marseillaise as General Cousin came in, followed by over a hundred officers and men, hardly one not wounded and bandaged in some way; some with their whole faces bandaged, some with just their heads, many footless and legless, on crutches; one was brought in on a stretcher.

They formed in the center and then a long line of fifty or more widows, with their long veils, and men, and one little girl about six; they stood on the other side of the square.

As each man's name was read with the reason why he was given the decoration, General Cousin walked up to him, tapped him on first one shoulder and then the other with his saber, pinned on the medal and kissed him on both cheeks. The ones who got the Croix de Guerre he simply tapped on the shoulder with the saber, pinned on the medal and shook hands. And to the families of those killed as heroes in action he simply handed the medal. It nearly killed you to see them, heroes that they were, crippled for life, yet it was inspiring to realize that right in the midst of this world war you had a chance to see a ceremony of this kind.

On our way back Moll and I went in to see the wonderful tapestries from Rheims Cathedral which were on exhibition at the Petit Palace. I never saw such wonderful things. I did n't realize such tapestries existed and I was so glad to know they were there, for nearly everything like exhibitions, galleries, etc., is closed now. I believe the Louvre is not open at all to the public, or if any, only a small, unimportant part. Of course many of the most famous paintings were sent to Southern France at the beginning of the war. I guess no one knows where most of them are.

3 RUE VERDI, PARIS, August 22, 1916.

Here I am in my Paris home, and I would give worlds if you could walk in and see how fascinating it is. I can hardly wait for Marlborough to get back and see it, now that we are actually settled here, for you know we came in two days after he left.

He has only been gone three days, and I have had two letters from him, which seems like getting back to old times. But I am so happy for him that he is actually at Verdun.

Friday afternoon I went to Mrs. S ----'s (her husband is an aviator and she the Mme. Sylva of Grand Opera fame), for tea. She said if I would come she would sing for me, so of course I went, for I have never known anyone like that before, and it is wonderfully interesting. She had Andolf, a noted pianist, there to play her accompaniments. He couldn't speak a word of English, but if he had been interested in dish towels, coat hangers, and floor cloths, we could have talked together fluently. But I am not in the French drawing-room class yet. However he talked French violently, and I took a guess at what he ought to be saying, and talked in English, and we were both perfectly happy. He is most attractive, and I never imagined one could have such a wonderful touch on the piano as he has. He is going to pick out a baby grand piano for me to rent.

Saturday noon Marlborough left, all tied up in his uniform, with more London leather than a real Britisher, with a Sam Brown belt and London riding-boots, and a field bag, etc. Moll and I went down to the Embassy with him, but did not pursue him farther.

In the afternoon we made our first trip to the Bon Marché where we got a few little things for the house, but I was not very thrilled with it. The shops on rue St. Honoré and avenue de l'Opéra take my fancy. I have n't bought a thing in the world for myself or Mollie but the two lingerie waists which I bought when I first came. Winter things are beginning to look tempting, but why get them for Paris? Absolutely no one dresses in the slightest, so far as fancy clothes go, and you would not feel comfortable in anything but very dark clothes, and would be conspicuous in anything else.

Sunday we went to the Jardin d'Acclamation in the Bois. The greenhouses were beautiful, but Mollie naturally had a fit over the animals, and had a nice ride on a camel. Elephant riding was too slow, and driving an ostrich, she said, hardly paid, for the ostrich went so fast it was all over before you knew, it, but apparently in camel riding you got your money value in sensations.

Monday morning we moved out here, and are happy to be in a place of our own.

In the afternoon Mrs. B came and took me to the American Ambulance Hospital at Neuilly. I can never begin to tell you about it or the extent of the plant and organization. First, the building is superb. It was built for a school of some sort, and was just completed when the war broke out, so it was taken at once by the American Ambulance. It extends the entire length of a city block in size and is built around a court, which is more than a court, for it is a huge garden, but the building extends around all four sides. I went all over it from top to bottom, and through all the wards. There are endless wards of just ten beds, and two or three of fifty. The Boston ward has fifty. Although they all look so comfortable, the human misery and suffering is too terrible to write about.

When we got to the operating room, the doctor who was operating knew Mrs. B well and asked us if we did n't want to come in, it was such a wonderful case. There were seven doctors there to witness it, and to study the wonderful things done in this war in the way of surgery. The poor man had had the side of his face and jaw blown off by a shell, and they were building up a new face for him. From a professional point of view it was marvelous beyond words, but after the first ten minutes I told Major Shaw (one of the American Army medical observers) that if I did not leave they would have two patients instead of one. I did not know whether I would like to have a little more ether and pass out, or whether I had had too much. When I came out you may be sure I sat down on the first thing that looked like a seat. But there was no sitting for anything but a long breath and a quick recovery, for there was a steady line of stretchers coming and going with poor mutilated souls. I have begun to think that the blind are perhaps blessed and better off than the mutilated, for they are spared seeing themselves, which to the mutilated must be agony.

The thousands and even hundreds of thousands of head and face wounds almost prevent the poor men from looking human. I suppose that they are glad to be alive, but with the life before them it is a pretty hard outlook. I am sure that half the men in Paris have but one leg, and what a tiny proportion of wounded Paris represents!

The nearer you get to this war, the more useless and terrible it seems. I have n't started to lead my blind yet, and in fact I haven't decided just which way I will give my extra time later on. Everybody seems to be working in a different spot and all feel that their work is the most interesting and important.

The one thing I have promised to do and have signed for is to go to the American Ambulance every Wednesday from three to six, and work in the doctors' and nurses' canteen. This is what it is: there is a huge room in the basement, with gas burners one length, and a thousand large teapots and hot-water boilers and great hampers of rolls and cakes. Two ladies go each day and just plain "rustle" food for doctors and nurses. One might politely call it "pouring tea" but it is all the same as a Childs' restaurant. Of course there are hundreds of nurses and auxiliary nurses and doctors, and I am told the place is packed for three hours. It is just a moment's relaxation for them, after a hard day, and before they get the patients all fixed for the night.

PARIS, August 25, 1916.

Wednesday afternoon I poured tea just as fast as I could from large tanks for three hours. There was an interesting Russian woman there with me, and the maids who are there to wash cups, etc., said we had served three hundred cups.

There are lots of attractive Ambulance doctors and drivers, and many attractive nurses, and of course most of them are Americans and speak English, although of course, there have to be a certain number of French. I heard lots of interesting things, and found them so cordial and chatty. One man came in and said he wanted a cup of lye, not tea, for he had been operating on one case after another since daylight. Five trains of wounded had come into Paris in twenty-four hours; everything has been pretty hot up in the Somme district the past few weeks.

Last night about eleven Marlborough came back from Verdun, where he had had a wonderfully interesting time, bringing back a big hunk of a German shell which just missed him. He also brought back a case of bar-le-duc from Bar-le-Duc. It is such a relief to have him back!

3 RUE VERDI, August 28, 1916.

I received the sweater you forwarded to Moll, and many thanks. We both think it looks remarkably well. I know you are anxious to know how I find things as to expense. I have not tried to get anything but some socks for Moll which were excellent but also expensive. Silk stockings look fairly good, but also nothing that can touch what one gets at home as to both quality and price. Around nine francs you can get a better stocking than you can at home for that price, but I don't pay that much at home!

There are lingerie waists for $5, and perfectly stunning ones for $10. Furs and clothes look fairly inexpensive in the windows. Gowns are cheap and also good. I find it this way, the necessities of life are very dear, and the luxuries are not.

I miss running around the country in your car, and my shoes are all wearing out! I can get along in trams and in the metro, but as for directing taxi-drivers beyond the usual places and numbers our French does not agree.

I am keen to have Mme. F----- come back from the country, for I am so anxious to become fluent, and everybody agrees she is the one to study with. I can understand my cook in practically everything she says now, which is a great help, for a week ago I couldn't get much of anything. I am beginning to understand in a general way everything I hear around me. And Paris these days is really French; Americans are scarce. I have wished so many times that I had seen the Paris before the war, to compare it with. I wonder which French Red Cross Hospital your boxes went to. It would be interesting to know whom you heard from, but they number in the hundreds, for half of Paris is practically hospitals; perhaps it was written from the headquarters of the Red Cross.

Yesterday morning I went to a large ouvroir, which is practically a large workshop. It was an enormous house, wonderful as to furnishings, tapestries, etc., and the whole place is now a workshop. They employ a hundred or more paid Frenchwomen to do the works and the clerical work; the giving out of clothes, etc., is done by volunteers.

The work they wanted me to do there really required speaking French, to say nothing of writing it, and there are plenty who can do that. This work should be gone at slowly and carefully, for everybody wants you to do something different, and you might as well get something you can do well and have it worth while, than to drop into some work that others could do better.

Mollie has adopted a ouvroir, which is a godson: the captain of a company that has men whose family and friends live in the invaded country, and who have no one to write to or hear from, and are worthy and of good character, sends their names in here to the different ouvroirs, where that work is handled, and, with the name, a personal letter from the man asking for a marraine, which is a godmother.

The one Mollie chose is in the artillery and has not been able to hear one word from his family since the war began, two years ago; he wanted to hear from somebody somewhere, as he has practically lived in the trenches for two years. So at the ouvroir they wrote to him and to his captain saying that Mollie had adopted him, and she has to write to him, find out what he wants, and occasionally send tobacco, etc. And he can write about his life at the front to her. It is a wonderful work and beautifully organized and managed, and to have a little personal word in their lives keeps them from thinking they are just fighting-machines.

Saturday morning Marlborough and I were called at five-thirty and went to la Halle, which as you know is the big market.

The cook went with us and did all the buying; we just enjoyed the place, and the people. Many of the men looked like pirates from "Treasure Island," and another time I shall go with a camera. The cook brought home everything but the family cat, and, among her purchases, a gorgeous bunch of American Beauties, stems about a meter long, for one franc!

Sunday afternoon Marlborough and I went over to the Luxembourg Garden where I had not been before; is n't it beautiful! We dined at Tavern Pascale, which was wonderfully interesting, and such food! It was a sight to see as we entered, ---the place fairly well filled, and around the wall a line of trench helmets, bayonets, and belts hanging, as their owners dined, and every kind and combination of uniform about, you could think of. As we sat there and dined I felt as if I were on the stage; nothing seemed real, and everything had a mediæval look.

Marlborough is leaving again next week, for the island of Corsica to inspect the German prison camps, to be gone about a month. Two young men from the Embassy and Major C----- are going. He is going with one man down in the lowlands where there has been much malaria, and they have asked for a doctor inspector. Marlborough and the other man are going to the camps in the mountains. They go to Marseilles and Nice, then to Corsica.

PARIS, September 3, 1916.

Yesterday, we put in a sight-seeing day at Versailles, going out at noon on the train, as you know it is only a matter of about half an hour on the train. When we landed we walked up to a perfect little café where we had lunch on the balcony. I saw more military activity than I have ever seen before.

In peace time there are large garrisons here, but to Moll and me it looked as if in war time the entire French Army was here. The streets were filled with marching, drilling troops, and we stood and watched a line of covered motor trucks on their way to "somewhere in France." I only wish I had counted them; we watched them until we decided there was no end to them, and so far as I know they are still going down that street.

The whole place was swarming with soldiers. Aeroplanes and big guns were being dragged through the streets, and the heavens were swarming with aeroplanes of various kinds, and two big dirigibles were overhead.

Moll and I were so busy with the military, that we almost forgot there were other things to be seen. After lunch we went to the Palace, and with a guide did it according to Hoyle.

Of course you have all been there, and it is wonderful, is n't it? I was so interested in the Vernet and Delacroix war pictures, and I wouldn't have minded a good foxtrot in the crystal ball-room. After "doing" the Palace we dismissed our guide, and spent the entire afternoon wandering in the gardens.

I think we are rather accomplished to take a French guide, and understand, but, as Moll says, "when we haven't heard anything else for a month, of course you have to understand, ---you can't help it." I am glad she feels that way about it!

To return to the gardens at Versailles, ---did you ever see anything more beautiful in your life? Such vistas, and such extent without monotony, and such glorious flowers! It is something you all know, so why should I feebly describe it, --- but is n't it glorious?

But something else which I haven't words to describe is the way I felt as we took the train back to Paris. I could barely put one foot before the other, and felt as if I had taken a forty-mile horseback ride, and had slept out in the rain afterwards. I felt stiff, and two hundred, and Moll and I at one time thought we would have to take off our shoes and throw them in the fountain, we were so tired of them. I had on a pair E      gave me because they didn't fit her; tell her for me that they don't fit me, either. The next time I go sight-seeing I am going in my blue satin boudoir slippers!

Monday night Marlborough and I went up into Montmartre, and dined at the "Clore" (which is " the nail "). It is a perfect place, small but attractive, with old prints and china on the walls, and downstairs there were not more than eight tables and the bar.

Marlborough was the only man there not in uniform, and there was every kind of uniform you could imagine. As the men got up to go, after they had dined, and put on various overcoats and hung on their equipment, some with their tin boxes with the gas masks, it did n't seem as if it could be real,---these men in the midst of war just having a little look in, in Paris, before they went back to the trenches. Such a sight makes the whole seem to me like the stage; it does n't seem as if I could be living here in the midst of it all.

PARIS, September 7, 1916.

Yesterday I had a very busy day at the Ambulance. There were about four hundred to feed, and I saw some pretty sad cases. A boy there in whom I have been so interested, with both arms gone at the shoulder, one leg gone, and the other gone from the knee, is evacuated to-day, and he is so unhappy to leave. He is a poor peasant boy from Southern France, and who can care for him every minute of his life? And yet someone will have to. The only thing he can do is to read, and someone has to turn the pages for him to do that. But at the Ambulance everybody has been thoughtful of him, and he hates to leave.

Mrs. B is doing some work with the blind, and is trying to persuade me to go there and help them in their carpet weaving, but I have a couple of weeks more to decide, before Moll goes to school. I think I would rather have a look at various places of this relief work, and not take something which requires the same thing every day.

One day (that is, seven hours) at one of the big railway stations, giving food to the poor men when they come in direct from the trenches, tempts me, and you only have to sign for one day a week. I am told it is tremendously interesting, and there are still other days for other things. All these things are wonderfully organized, and they do not like to have you shift from one thing to another, so you want to start where you want to stick.

I had a cable from Marlborough tonight saying he had arrived at Bastia, Corsica; when he returns I hope to know more about Corsica than I do at present.

Moll and I are both well and getting along all right, but it seems queer to be alone in this place.

PARIS, September 12, 1916.

I trust that my letters do not seem as strange to you as they do to me but I fear I repeat and I know I wander from one thing to another. Mollie and I have been busy as possible every minute since Marlborough went away, and we have had two letters from him so know that he is all right, and having a most interesting trip.

Last Friday afternoon I took Mollie to see the Somme motion pictures at the Réjane Theatre. They were frightful but wonderful, and to see the pictures, with the battle of the Somme still going on, and to sit right among all French people, one-half of them soldiers, --- it is something she will never forget. They had an orchestra of a dozen pieces, the first music I have heard here, and when they played the Marseillaise and the audience as one rose to its feet, and all the soldiers stood at attention, with hand saluting, it was most impressive.

Sunday it poured in torrents all day, and yet Mrs. B----- ventured out, and came up for luncheon and I had a very nice time with her. And through her I had a chance to go to see a Miss Vail, who is at the "American Fund for French Wounded."

I went down there yesterday morning. The headquarters is the building next to the "Ambassadors' Café," on the Champs Elysées. This was apparently a similar café. Now it looks like a warehouse on the main floor, but it is curious with the many gilded chandeliers above, and a gold staircase leading to what was once the place to dine, a circular balcony overlooking the main room below. The balcony is filled with small tables, but at each only a girl busily banging the typewriter. Here the clerical work is done, and the rooms leading off the balcony are the main offices.

Apparently all the work done by the A. F. F. W. branches in America is marked that way, so from the clearing-house here in Paris the hundreds of cases are sent to this place. Here they are opened, and of course each case is a mixture of things ---shirts, socks, pillows, etc. --- so they are assorted and put in store-rooms. Long lists of the needs of the various hospitals are on file. My work is to be in this department, doing up these packages in waterproof paper, and sewing burlap around them. Incidentally, these packages are the size of the kitchen stove!

They asked me if I would get official papers from the Embassy to use with my passport, so that sometimes they could send me out on the motor trucks with the things for the hospitals, for many of the base hospitals are well out from Paris, and many in the war zone, though they are far from the danger zone or the zone of activity. This would be most interesting and I hope that the chance comes to me some day. In the meantime I shall try to make good at the unpoetic job of getting the bundles ready for the long line of war motors waiting for them outside.

Until Moll is in school, I am going down four afternoons a week, --- Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, --- so that with Wednesday at the Ambulance, I have but Saturday for foolishness. But it is too ridiculous to have tea at the Ritz with a bunch of females four or five days a week, and here, there, and the other place the other days, yet you can't help it unless you have a good excuse, like a steady job. I appreciate people being so nice to me, but while I am in Paris I want something different---I may never come here again.

Yesterday was the first afternoon I have had free since Marlborough left, so I took Mrs. B----- and Mollie out to see the American Ambulance. She was anxious to see it, and we went over but a small part of it. I thought Mollie ought to have a glimpse of it, to realize what an enormous thing a big military hospital was. We only went through the fracture wards and the general part of the hospital, so she did not see any of the things to haunt her.

We came back here for tea, and Mrs. M and Captain and Mrs. B----- dropped in, so if I am not out busy doing things, there are always people here, so there is not a moment to get lonely. But it does seem queer to be living in my own home, in a foreign country with just Moll. Yet she is such a companionable little soul and so adaptable, that one could never get lonely with her about.

PARIS, September 14, 1916.

I reported at the American Fund for French Wounded to-day at two o'clock, with my required French blue garb. I worked like a sweat-shop worker until six-thirty, with about ten minutes off for tea at five o'clock.

When I arrived there were three motor trucks waiting to be loaded for Verdun. A hurry-up call had come in for certain things. I looked through a hundred so-called comfort bags to add certain things if not found and put them into two packing-cases. From the store-room I counted out and tied up, in lots of one hundred, five hundred pillows. I was then sent to a room to sew up in burlap ten enormous bales of bandages. We got them done, and off the motors started. How I would have loved a picture of it!

The last two hours were spent in unpacking and putting in place in storerooms cases of things from Boston. The two girls who worked with me to-day are both motor drivers, but happened to have a day in. They were most entertaining and "powerful cute-looking." They report for duty at 10 A. M. and are on until 6 P. M., when they take their cars back to the garage. At the garage they care for their cars entirely themselves, excepting the washing; consequently, in the early morning or late evening hours, they are working in the garage. One girl said she worked on her car until two o'clock in the morning the other day, after coming in from a ten-day trip.

PARIS, September 17, 1916.

French bread, which is one thing I always wanted to come to Paris for, is no more, for flour is darker and poorer in quality and not so plentiful, so I am told that the bread to-day should not be mentioned in the same breath with the real French bread. Sugar is scarce and butter poor and very expensive.

From all we hear of infantile paralysis, it must be fearful in America. I don't believe I told you that our boat was the last one over before they made all children from New York go into a two weeks' quarantine on landing. Imagine Mollie and me in Bordeaux for two weeks, with nothing but wine and prunes for excitement.

I am enthusiastic over the work I have gone into. Friday Miss Vail asked me if I would assist her in the office that afternoon, so from two until seven I worked with her, straightening out things which were piling up and getting beyond anyone, ---rather a hasty promotion, but I shall doubtless be back in the manual-labor part to-morrow. Yesterday was my day off, but they gave me a commission to buy a couple of dozen school children's capes for some refugee children in an outlying district. As there was not much money for such things, I spent most of my morning locating cheap but warm ones.

The big drive during the past twenty-four hours has been a real gain of territory, but I hate to think of the trainloads of wounded which are sure to be piling in here to-day. Of course the French loss does not compare with the German, but there are always the hundreds of wounded.

When people at home make little pillows of any and every size out of pieces of cretonne, filled with bits of anything, they may be sure they are all used. Today came a hurry call for seventeen hundred of these pillows to be sent at once to the Gare St. Chapelle, for the American Ambulance. This is the railroad station where all the trains with wounded come in, a little way out from the city, so as to keep all the unnecessary horror away from people at large.

The wounded all come in tagged; there are four kinds of tags, designating the different degrees of seriousness of the wounds. At the station they are assorted. The little pillows are used on the stretchers, to give them some degree of comfort, under wounded head, leg, or arm, as the case may be. The pillows are of various sizes and are wonderfully useful, as they are of no real value as to material; when they have done their duty once, most of them naturally have to be destroyed.

I had a cable from Marlborough this morning, saying that he was about to go up the west coast of Corsica and would not be back until the twenty-ninth or thirtieth.

PARIS, September 22, 1916.

The past two days I have put in some hard work at the A. F. F. W., last night staying until seven.

To-day, while we were working, two French soldiers came in. They were brothers and the younger had been sent to get some warm underclothing, for he was going right out to the front this afternoon. His elder brother, who lost an arm a few months ago, was weeping, knowing, as he did, what his brother was going to. He himself could not go back because he had only one arm, nor could he go home to his mother, who lived alone, for his home was in the invaded country and he did n't know whether she was alive or not. The case was a pathetic one, and although you see and hear of many such every day, this is the first time I have seen anyone, man or woman, who has given in to his anguish.

Wednesday afternoon Mollie and I went to Miss Holt's "lighthouse," or phare, as they call it here. It is really wonderful the work the blind are doing, and you can hardly believe the way they get around the house.

The method is not to lead them in any way, to make them lose their independence, and although they may, stone blind you see them going about alone, up and down stairs, without even faltering. The hardwood floors have tracks of matting from door to door, and if they find themselves off the matting they know they are going wrong. About two feet in from the wall, around every room, on the floor, is a slightly raised board, not enough to stumble over, but enough to make them realize the wall is near. Many of them were learning to write on a typewriter, others were modeling in clay, and many learning to read by raised letters. Others were weaving sweaters, rugs, etc. They roller-skate, fence, and ride bicycles around, a court for exercise, and why they don't run into each other no mortal knows.

The home is a glorious one for them, but to hear the little tap, tap, of the little bamboo canes which they carry with them is too pathetic. Young men, strong and husky, --- to be instantly blinded in battle is too terrible. Most of them look absolutely normal as to eyes. There are not many blind coming in now; most of them lost their sight early in the war, before they had proper protection, the trench helmet, masks, etc.

The blind are pathetic, but the mutilated get all my sympathy. I told you of the lad at the Ambulance who had lost both arms and both legs. When a friend of his came in to see him, as he was convalescent, his first words were, "Wasn't I lucky." I call that some courage and pleasure in being alive.

September 25, 1916.

It is so hard for me to remember which one of the family I wrote to last, but it makes little difference, and I shall begin like Moll, " Dear Folks."

You wanted to know if I was busy "freshening" up my French. Any I had was not worth freshening up, ---what I am waiting for is to get something entirely new. Mme. Fritche, with whom I am going to study, has just come back, so in another week I shall begin. I am sorry to say that I am not looking forward to it with the slightest bit of pleasure, but it has to be done.

I took Molly over to the Cour Fénelon to-day, when I went to see Mlle. Larible about her school; it was unique. She is a dear little old French lady, speaking a little English, and Moll is to begin on Monday. There are about four hundred girls there, but many only go twice a week on Cour Days. She is going every day at nine and stay until four-thirty. I don't envy her a bit, but Mlle. Larible said if she had her luncheon there and went out to walk with the fifteen or twenty girls who stay to lunch she would learn much more rapidly, and she was sure that in three months she would learn to talk, read, and recite all her lessons in French without any difficulty. It is a grand chance for her, but it sounds rather tough to me; still I know that that is the way to get it.

A cable from Marlborough says he leaves Bastia for Nice to-morrow so that will bring him in Paris on the twenty-ninth, and, after a month away, I shall be glad to get him home again. He has n't been here more than three weeks since I landed, but I am delighted for him each time he has been away, for they have been such interesting trips. I only hope that he will stay at home for a while, but I suppose that he will be anxious to get out to the Somme, though I am not very keen to have him out there right now.

Will you tell E----- that the men in the trenches adore all the candy we send out to them. Candy and tobacco seem to be two much appreciated articles.

And while I think of it, please tell her to have all the socks tied together with a piece of yarn at the toe or top, as a pair, before they are sent out. The hundreds which arrive otherwise are enough to drive one mad.

I have heard of many small hospitals here which are just suffering for things. What are they working for in Andover at present, ---just the Red Cross fund in general?

PARIS, October 2, 1916.

Marlborough had a most interesting time in Corsica, but he was glad to get home.

Last Wednesday I had a very busy day at the Ambulance. We were all sorry to hear of the death of two Americans that day, Rockwell, the aviator who has done so well, and Kelly, who had just come over to drive an ambulance. He was killed by a German shell, and it was only his sixth day at the front. It seems more pathetic when you know he was just starting his work.

Moll has had her first day at school, and fortunately the queer part strikes her humorous side. She will be quite happy there I know, and I am confident that she will get real French, and that is the one thing I care most about for her this winter, after keeping well.

To-day at the A. F. F. W. someone brought in a blind man for one or two things that he needed. He was a pathetic sight, with a scalp and forehead wound, one eye simply closed and the other so mutilated it had to be covered, stone blind in both, and one arm gone. But he was cheerful beyond words, and wanted to come to see the work the American women were doing. As he was taken through the different rooms he was told all about it, and as I gave him the things he was to have, he was as pleased as a child. Each article of clothing he felt all over with his one hand, and they were all just what he wanted. He is very anxious to have his wounds heal sufficiently for him to go into the blind industrial school, for he thinks he can learn to make brushes with the one remaining hand. To me it would seem discouraging, no eyes and only one hand, but they are all so wonderfully courageous.

October 5, 1916.

Yesterday I had a busy day, as they all are, and a most interesting one. The morning as usual at my job, and at noon Marlborough and I went to luncheon with Mme. L-----, who lives alone, as her husband is off on special missions for the French government. Her home is just like a museum and story-book combined. She has given over all the lower part of her house as a home for convalescent soldiers. She has about twelve at a time, and takes only men from the invaded territories who have no place to go to after they leave the hospitals, and before they are able to go back to the front. When we rang the front-door bell, a soldier opened the door, and in the big square hail was a huge round table set for about a dozen or fifteen. And in the adjoining rooms were soldiers, phonographs, and "Tipperary." We went upstairs, where Mme. L----- has her part of her own house, and as we lunched in her fascinating dining-room the sounds of the life below sounded just like a café scene before the curtain goes up on the stage. Naturally her stories of her "family," as she calls them, were interesting. She was the first person to apply to the French government for convalescents after the war broke out. Since then she has had over five hundred, so you can well imagine the good she has done and is doing.

Right after luncheon, I had to go to the Ambulance, where I had a very busy time until about six. After I finished my duties I went up into one of the wards to see an English soldier who is having practically a whole new face made. His nose, upper jaw, and upper face were shot away. At an English hospital where he was sent, they said it was hopeless to do anything for him in the way of his appearance, but that the American doctors were very daring, so they sent him to the American Ambulance. He now has a nose and upper face, and said that next week he was going to have another operation, and have an upper jaw and lips made. He spoke about it as you would of having a new suit made.

PARIS, October 10, 1916.

Yesterday I spent much of the time helping load ambulances outside and packing, baling, etc., for the moving-picture man. Some woman is to lecture in America, and these pictures are to be shown to illustrate the work done. Compared to what is being done on the Somme, it does n't seem much!

This afternoon I had my third French lesson. My three lessons have been painful, and the studying between times is almost more than my brain enjoys, but I must get it as rapidly as I can, for with Germany's new U-boat performances our days in France may be numbered. To-day we were all stirred up by the news of the ships torpedoed in the Atlantic, and we are all thankful to be on dry land.

E----- mentioned in her letter the possibility of her Red Cross working for some especially needy hospital here. Of course the things they can send are needed almost everywhere, but if they would like to have their work more personal by sending it to me, and through me hearing about the hospital and the use their things are put to, and about the various cases, I shall be only too glad. I know of so many, but would pick out the most interesting as well as the most needy. Of course the most needy are not the ones right in Paris. I will find out how things can be sent without expense, yet through the clearing-house, to me, for everything is done to make it easy for relief work.

PARIS, October 15, 1916.

This has been rather an irregular week as to mail, on account of the "submarining" at your end. The mail which came in on Monday has not been given up by the censor yet, so I have not heard from home for some time.

Now that we have gone back to the old time, it gets dark at five o'clock, and to wander around these dark streets is a good deal of a trick.

In my next letter I am going to have a lot of definite proposals for your Red Cross work; of course you must consider them as just proposals, and if nothing appeals, just say so. If I ask you just what can you send, I suppose your answer is: what do you want? The general needs are: sheets, pillows, pillow-cases, towels, rubber sheeting, blankets, pajamas, shirts, comfort pillows, handkerchiefs, sweaters, surprise bags, --- what we think of as comfort bags. These they adore, and keep them hanging at the head of their beds. They are, of course, usually made out of cretonne and contain writing-pad, envelopes, pencil, handkerchief, pipe, small mirror, puzzles, chocolate, etc. You see it gives the poor convalescent ones a few possessions of their own. And when you see them by the hundreds in the hospitals you wish you could give each one something. Letters in them they adore.

As far as supplies are concerned, hotwater bags, rubber gloves, rubber cushions, etc., are among the most called-for articles.

PARIS, October 19, 1916.

Yesterday I had an interesting day at the Ambulance. The past two days the fighting on the Somme has been frightfully severe, and the patients are all beginning to arrive. The wounded from gas bombs are particularly bad, for the poison goes so quickly over the whole system.

On Monday I was sent out on my first "delivery" to a hospital in St. Germain. A Miss Dunham from New York was my driver and we went in an Overland motor truck, which had a huge red cross painted on each side of the covered truck, and words stating that it was for the " Blessés Français" and given by the Comité Boston, and a red cross on top of hood.

It was a glorious afternoon, and for some unknown reason, it did n't rain, so the thirty-mile run we had was a joy. It did seem odd to be dashing up the Champs Elysées on a motor truck filled with supplies for a hospital, where many men had arrived unexpectedly from the frightful fight of the day before. I never expected to drive in that fashion in Paris.

Half way out, a clamp which held one side of the windshield came off, and the whole shield and long extension rods to the front of the truck, had to be removed. So Miss Dunham and I took out all the tools and looked them over, and after struggling with about a million bolts, we succeeded in removing the whole thing and went on our way.

We found the hospital Auxiliaire No. 20 delightfully situated in an old convent, and we were shown over the place from cellar to roof. It was most attractive, and everything was being done which could be done for the poor suffering souls. It is a small hospital, with not more than eighty beds.

We carried some cigarettes out, but not expecting to be taken over the entire place we did n't take many. I was so sorry for I should have liked to be able to give them all some.

Norman Prince's death was a blow to the young aviators. His memorial service is to be to-morrow morning at the American Episcopal Church here. The American aviators number only about fifteen and they are very intimate, as they all work together and live in one mess. Norman Prince makes the third to go.

PARIS, October 24, 1916.

Thursday I went with Marlborough to the memorial service for Norman Prince in the American Episcopal Church. The main part of the church was very well filled with American, French, and English officers. The beautiful flowers were banked against the chancel rail, with an American flag on one side and a French flag on the other. Just before the service began, all the American aviators in their French uniforms came in and took the front seats and then all the American Ambulance men, in the Paris section, came in and sat behind them. It was all very impressive and very sad.

Yesterday afternoon I was sent out again by my workshop on "deliveries." We went on the Magnolia truck to a hospital down at the lower end of Paris, miles beyond the Bastille. After our business was done, they asked us, as usual, if we would like to see the hospital. As this is part of our work, of course we said we did. The building was more like a warehouse than anything else; it all looked cold, gray, and cheerless, and, I should say, always without sun. As it was an improvised hospital, it looked pretty primitive. Most of the men looked pretty sick.

Now about your work in Andover. I had a nice talk with Mrs. Lathrop, the head of the work here, and she said the best results had not come from working for one particular hospital, for whatever its needs might be now they would be quite different in a week from now and very different, still, by the time a special box could arrive. Should you wish to send here through the A. F. F. W. and indirectly through me, send anything, surgical dressings and all; the box will be marked and invoiced from Andover and from you. As it is received here, if there is any desire to hear from it in a personal way, they are only too glad to make it possible, as they do with nearly all. You will be told where the articles were sent, and, as they are sent, the hospital is told the articles are from you, and bunches of letters for you from the individual men will arrive here and be forwarded to you. I shall be notified where the articles were sent and can go there and send you pictures, and tell you all about it, --- that is, if it is in France and not in Salonica! As soon as you are once started, a flood of personal literature pours in, and that is what makes the work more interesting.

And if it is work entirely by workers for the Red Cross will you let me know?

And now that you know about it, you can decide if you would like to hear from your efforts.

This victory at Verdun is a joy to Paris and I hope it was made without too great a sacrifice but, dear me, with tons of big shells being used, as well as all the handgrenades and bayonets, there has to be a frightful toll of dead and wounded. The invasion of Roumania is disheartening but we hope for a turn in the tide there. I hope Moll's filleul, Paulain Leon, will write to her something of the Verdun victory; he is in the artillery there and we hear that the artillery fired continuously for one hundred and five hours. Naturally the men were changed but the guns never ceased.

PARIS, October 27, 1916.

How I wish before beginning your winter relief work, you could be in Paris a few days with me! To be among these wonderful French people, with their nation at war, is an inspiration itself.

I can't tell you emphatically enough, that the French are doing all they can to relieve and help their own people. You have only to stop and think that this war has been going on for over two years to realize what there is to be done.

Unless one has actually been through big military hospitals in war time, one can't realize the horror of war. To see hundreds and to know there are thousands more like them---of young men and men in the prime of life shattered and suffering from shrapnel and bomb wounds too horrible to describe! Poor souls, they are mutilated for life, but are all glad to have done what they could for France, and for the principle in which they believe.

After visiting a hospital you realize what a blessed thing it is to have health, and hands and feet, and you realize, as never before, that the well and strong must work while this war lasts, to provide for the needs of the suffering.

I only wish I had, right here in my house, those nice warm hospital shirts, socks, and the rest of the things which I saw at the Guild last winter. I know you have done a lot, and I know that everything you have done has been appreciated by someone somewhere. I would only too gladly have things sent directly to me, and would beg for them, but the best way, as I have said, is the most economical way. To have things shipped without any expense to any individual or organization, --- that is the only way to do.

Clothing, surgical dressings, and hospital supplies are all handled here at the A. F. F. W., ---in fact everything for the wounded that one could think of. These supplies are sent by individuals or committees in America, marked for the A. F. F. W., and are shipped without expense. They go through the clearinghouse here, simply as a matter of routine, but they are not touched.

When they arrive at the A. F. F. W., a record is kept of the articles received; they are assorted here, and, as demands come in from hospitals near and far, the needs are met as far as possible and as quickly as possible.

Each day camions bring in boxes from America to the receiving department, so each morning you see a line of camions waiting for the bales and cases, which are the result of a day's work in the packing department. For hospitals in and near Paris there is a motor service, made possible by the generosity of various committees in America. The Boston, Magnolia, St. Paul, and San Francisco committees all have delivery trucks bearing their names, all with volunteer drivers and all the drivers are American girls.

It has been my good fortune, as I've told you, to go out on many deliveries, so in that way I have seen where some of the things are sent, heard the appreciation of the hospital directors, and, after going through the wards, I have realized how modest they were in their demands, and how much more they could have used. But economy is practiced to its bitter end; even surgical dressings are washed, sterilized, and used again.

You are doing all you can, I know, but here I am in Paris, not many miles away from the terrible Somme and Verdun, seeing the wounded pouring into Paris, and for once in my life I am not too proud to beg. Do let me know if there is anything you can do for these wonderful French people.

We now include Salonica and Morocco, and to-day we started preparing fifty thousand surprise bags for Christmas in the hospitals.

Sunday we had Mme. L----- here for luncheon, --- the one who has the home for convalescent soldiers. We had n't seen her for several weeks and during that time she had had a frightful experience: she had heard that her husband had been taken from a boat on his way to Holland and had been shot as a spy. For three weeks this was all the information she could get of him. Finally --- and suddenly --- he turned up here in Paris.

PARIS, November 8, 1916.

Sunday morning a Miss Brent got permission for me to go with her to the Gare du Nord to see a troop train off to the front. And it was a sight,---eighteen hundred men going back after eight days' permission in Paris, going back, poor souls, many of them, never to return, and you may be sure there was not much hilarity at leaving Paris for shot and shell and the destruction of human life.

But the calm, natural, business-like way in which they accepted it was a revelation, as showing what people can do if they have to. At the train no one is allowed inside the gate, so once a man has passed through, he has said good-bye to family and friends, if he have them.

Going through that sad crowd is heart-rending. But once inside the gate, where Miss Brent and I were allowed to go, I got as excited as a child of two. Miss Brent had on a truck about fifty packages of socks, handkerchiefs, soap, cigarettes, paté, and jam, to give to men who, she had found out, had come from the invaded country. Their eight days could not be spent with their families so of course many cases of this kind are very pathetic.

I turned all the money I had on Saturday night into French cigarettes and wished I had about a thousand packages instead of about two hundred. My intentions were to give them only to the pathetic, forlorn-looking ones. This I did at first, and presently I was surrounded by a mob; their bourgeois French was beyond me and my two hundred packages of cigarettes lasted about as long as snowball on a griddle.

Aside from those to whom you gave cigarettes, all that could wanted to grasp you by the hand, and have you say, "Bon chance" (good luck), ---never, "Au revoir."

This mass of faded and stained blue uniforms, trench helmets, and gas masks was something weird to be among and a part of. Just before the train started and all were about in the coaches, we began at the end of the train with a bunch of French flags and ran the length of the train, putting one in each coach.

Such excitement! A train filled with Andover boys on their way to an Exeter game was nothing compared with it. The train seemed miles long and extended out of the train yard almost into the country. As the train started, they hung their flags out of the windows, as well as their eighteen hundred helmeted heads, all saying, "Vive les Américaines," and it was a wonderful sight. And as the train went round a curve they all flocked to the opposite windows in the coaches, and we could see this long line of French flags waving until the train was out of sight.

After the excitement of doing something for them was over, it was rather depressing, but I only had to turn around to greet a train coming in direct from the trenches, ---as many men with mud caked on up over their boots and leggings, their overcoats all mud, and all with their huge knotty trench canes, but all of them wreathed in smiles at the thought of Paris for eight days.

Out of the huge crowd waiting for them, every now and then a man, woman, or child would fall on a soldier's neck. But the other I had had a part in, and of this I was simply an onlooker. My idea now is to save my sous for a million cigarettes and again get permission to go and have enough for all.

PARIS, November 14, 1916.

You ask if we want any warm things. As yet it is not cold, and our apartment is wonderfully heated, which is saying a lot in Paris at any time and particularly so in war time.

This afternoon I called at the Embassy on the Sharps, and they were in one room with all the doors closed. They hadn't had any coal and were keeping one room warm by a wood fire. Coal is ordered but they have n't been able to get it delivered. An order came out yesterday that all stores in Paris must close at six o'clock, and one day a week all theaters, cinemas, etc., in order to save coal and electricity, so that all public defense needs can be met. That is so that they can have more for munition factories, etc. They are even talking of closing restaurants in the same way, and of taxing every restaurant check over five francs.

Dressing in street clothes in public places, since the war began, has been simply a custom until now. Last week an order was issued that no man or woman in evening clothes would be admitted to a theater until the end of the war, so now the only time evening clothes appear are at dinners in private houses.

I seem to be switched off from warm clothes, but I am quite sure that none of us needs anything at present. But if you could send us a nice warm pair of socks for Moll's filleul we should be delighted. I bought him a pair of so-called hand-knit ones last week, but I know they are half cotton, and not for standing in a trench this winter. Moll is very much interested and is very faithful in looking after him, and she realizes that she is the one person he has to do anything for him.

After this last Verdun offensive she was anxious to hear from him, and the first minute he had to sit down he wrote to her that he was all right but that the cannonading was so terrific that you could not hear yourself speak.

Tuesday night we went to the Café de Paris to a dinner for a British general who had just been through the terrific Somme struggle. In one attack nineteen hundred men in his brigade were killed. I heard such stories of hand-to-hand fighting and gas attacks as one could scarcely believe, they all sounded so like savagery and barbarism. The general said that he had withdrawn his men back of the line to rest and then it had occurred to him that a few hours in Paris away from the horror would do him a world of good. So with an aide and a French captain he got into his car and motored in, in six hours. They had had tea at Ciro's and we were fortunate in being asked to the dinner his brother gave for him. He would spend the night and motor back in the morning. Does n't that seem odd? It certainly makes you realize that this war is still on French soil.