Now as we envisage the Belgians' glory and the people returning home, we, too, turn back across the years, turn back to 1914 again to our first touch with Serbia, so far away, so different from Belgium, so wonderfully represented in Paris by His Excellence M. Vesnitch and his American born wife. We knew M. and Madame Vesnitch before the war and one day when they had been dining with us he put their names in our guest-book. He wrote beneath their names a Serbian saying. I asked him what it meant and he said,

"Translated into English it reads:

He told me that when he was leaving his home going away for the education which he has acquired in such a wonderful degree, that his mother kissed him upon the forehead and said to him,

"My son, we may never meet again, but you will always remember two things. For yourself, you will always keep the fast on Good Friday that you may know that you are your own man. For me, you will remember, 'Give all for honor; take nothing for honor.' "

You can neither conquer nor exterminate a race whose life has basic principles like these.

M. Vesnitch has serious ways as befits his race but he has a delightful sense of humor and he is both a scholar and a charming gentleman. Madame Vesnitch is vivacious, very pretty, almost too pretty to be as clever as she is.

The Serbian Legation in Paris was a short three blocks away from Holy Trinity Church, at 7 rue Léonce Reynaud. It was not too large a house and it had a little garden and some trees at the back and a most friendly drawing room and library; rooms where the light came in through pale yellow silk curtains and where there was always an open fire and bowls of flowers.

Here our friends told us stories of the old patriarchal life of Serbia, of the cruelty of the Turks and of all that stood in the way of education; here we heard of the long twilight hours when grandfathers and grandmothers, fathers, mothers and children sat in a semi-circle in the firelight while the older ones taught the younger ones solely from memory, all they knew of science, art and history. So thorough, so exact is this oral teaching that the Serbian who has an opportunity to go further with his education becomes at once the equal of men of like opportunity in other races. The page which records the Serbs' story has its beginnings in the shadow land of history.

"Teutons and Magyars, Bulgars and Turks" have none of them quenched the genius of this still primitive people. In 1914 the population of Serbia was about four million, five hundred thousand people. The valleys of this very mountainous country are well cultivated and there is some pasture land. It is a land rightly called pastoral and the red roofs cover houses of a very simple sort. The farmer owns the land and there are only two classes, the farmer and the King.

Such conditions of living certainly render the people independent and self-sustaining on very meagre supplies. We are told that the women, too, are quick to learn if the chance is offered. Only it is so much harder to change the manners and appearance of a woman than it is those of a man.

It was after the great battle of Kossovo that the road to Macedonia was opened and M. Vesnitch has translated for us the Serbian story that commemorates that event. You might not wish to read it all now but I have transcribed a portion of it for you, since it shows so vividly the spirit of this ancient race.

THE PATRIOTIC ARDOR ON THE EVE OF THE BATTLE OF KOSSOVO

The Emperor is seated at his supper.
The Empress Militza near him.
The Empress so talks to Lazare:
'Prince Lazare, golden crown of the Serbians,
You are leaving tomorrow for Kossovo,
And taking with you servants and warriors,---
At home O Emperor Lazare,
You leave no man with me,
Who can take you a letter
At Kossovo and bring me back one;
And you take from me all my nine beloved brothers,
All my nine brothers, all the nine Youngovitch.
Leave to the sister, leave one of the nine brothers
Only one by whom she can swear to.'
The Serbian Prince Lazare then said:
Empress, my lady Militza
When tomorrow the morning dawn appears
When the sun tomorrow shall rise
When the gates of the dawn shall open---
Advance; remain near the gate
By which the army in order shall exit
All the warriors under their war lances,
Bochko will be the first in front;
It is he, who carries the standard of the Cross
You shall say to him, saluting him for me,
That he gives the standard to whom he pleases,
And that, with you, he stays at home.

*   *   *   *

The next day, at dawn
When the gates of the town opened
The Empress Militza went out.
She holds herself close to the gate.
Here come the troops in good order,
The horsemen under their lances of war,
And in front is Bochko Youngovitch.
His chestnut horse covered with gold
And the standard of the cross covers him.
On the standard is a golden apple,
Golden crosses are hooked on the apple
From each cross hang long, golden tassels,
The fringes float on the back of Bochko.

*   *   *   *

The Empress prefers her request and Bochko refuses
To stay for he will not have men call Him "coward."
"He does not dare to go to Kossovo and
Shed his blood for our sainted cross
And for his faith perchance to die."

*   *   *   *

He urges his horse onward and is gone---
One by one the brothers refuse to stay
And as the last one passes the Empress
Falls to the earth in a faint.
Then came the Emperor and his tears fell when he saw her but he, of all men, must go so he calls an old servant Gobulau and bids him remain.
Gobulau descends from his white horse and carries the empress to the slender tower.
But his heart cannot resist
And Kossovo calls him to the fight
And he---too---mounts and rides after Serbia's manhood.
And the women are left---Alone.
So it was from the beginning.(17)

King Peter had resigned the throne and Prince Alexandre was Regent. When he came to Paris we were asked to meet him at the Legation and there were perhaps forty other guests present. Madame Vesnitch in a violet dress and her daughter in white stood beside us as we were presented to the Prince. He is slight and dark with very dark eyes and graceful movements and simple friendly manners. He spoke to us of two of our friends who were in Serbia at work.

We saw him once or twice after that and we liked all that we saw and heard of him and all that we heard of his sister who was a nurse in the service of her countrymen.

It is said that to the Slav the most sacred of all family ties is that of brothers. That nothing else equals it in any degree and that the story of Cain and Abel is to them the most dreadful that can be conceived. This tie extends itself in a degree to cousins and so on to men of the same race. Priests and others are said to have carried sums of gold from many lands where Serbs are found for assistance to the Slav armies.

It was December, 1914, that we first began to do anything definite to help Serbia and the Serbians.

My husband met Madame Grouitch and Madamoiselle Losanitch at the American Ambulance and asked them to come to luncheon with us at the Rectory. We had been waiting for three months to hear from Miss Mary Gladwin, an American Red Cross Nurse who had gone out to Serbia in charge of a Unit and were rejoiced to hear that for nearly three months she and Mme. Grouitch had been working side by side.

It was Sunday when the two ladies came to luncheon with us and with them were two other friends. Madame Grouitch, who is by birth a West Virginian, was married in Holy Trinity Church, Paris. When she came into the Rectory to luncheon, she carried in her hand a packet tied in soft tissue paper. She said that in Serbia no one made a visit to the priest without presenting a little gift so she brought a pair of Serbian socks, dark blue, scarlet and white in color with a pattern knitted into them somewhat after the fashion of the pattern that the Alaskan Indian weaves into his basket.

Madame Grouitch was very vivacious and well-dressed in dark blue with touches of scarlet on her pilgrim hood. Mademoiselle S. Losanitch was exceedingly pretty and spoke French with much grace. They had with them quantities of photographs, some of them horrible to look at and they had Austrian proclamations that made us shudder.

Madame Grouitch said that at Nish the government had requisitioned not only all the food but all residences; that each person had a prescribed portion of the house in which to live; all servants had departed when the war began, for they were Austrians and Hungarians and were obliged to go.

The misery and need of this little country was frightful and we promised to help at once. We had as yet, practically, no supplies from America. On December thirteenth, 1914, our first gifts went to Serbia: two barrels and a box and a special box for Miss Gladwin. Our gifts went American Express to Salonica and thence to Nish. The gifts included one hundred and twenty-four cakes of soap, twenty-four pounds of cocoa, hospital supplies and clothing, all new. Three months later we had an acknowledgment that our gifts were received. Meantime we heard that Belgrade had fallen. In December, 1914, the Serbian Archbishop sent out a wonderful appeal to Great Britain and Ireland. He calls himself "chief Shepherd of an heroic and sorely-tried people" and he begs aid for the little children on whom the Nation's life for the future depends. From that day forward all our gifts were sent through the Legation to the Archbishop's splendid committee.

Perhaps you remember my telling you of the Duchesse de Talleyrand's great kindnesses. Amongst them was that of arranging that Dr. Cooke and Dr. Cookingham should come over from America to work in Europe. Dr. Cookingham was a New York police doctor and I think Dr. Cooke came from the state of Michigan. I saw them both when they came to consult my husband about the best way to be of service; this was also in 1914. The need in Serbia was terrible and it was finally decided that they should go there. Mr. Whitney Warren guaranteed their passage out, the Duchesse helped with money and gifts and the Rector sent cases of ether, drugs and surgical appliances.

(On a picture postcard)

Kragnevatz,
Jan. 7, 1915.

"This is a picture panorama of our town sixty miles from the front, dense with people. Cookingham and I each have a hospital to ourselves and not an idle moment. The ether Dr. Watson sent with us is supplying two hospitals. Town in awful need. We had a terrible trip out. The censor can not read English so he throws English letters away. Please send some Heralds and postcards in care of the American Consul at Nish."

ALBERT S. COOKE.

Not long after this card was sent a terrible epidemic of typhus broke out in Serbia. This disease had been brought into Serbia by the Austrian prisoners of whom there were now six thousand and of this number four thousand were wounded. There were almost no drugs and men were dying like flies. Then Dr. Cooke was taken ill with typhus and died. Dr. Cookingham was terribly ill but recovered. Miss Simmonds who was a nurse in Serbia wrote out her experiences there for us and I quote briefly from her journal:

"As I have told you Dr. Cookingham was terribly ill but recovered. The orderlies came in several times a day and carried the dead into the yard until their bodies could be buried. At the end of six weeks another one of the nurses and I myself were stricken. We were cared for by Austrian orderlies who were kind to us and also ate up our allowance of food. The Serbians are excellent amateur nurses and know all about caring for wounds. When they are ill however they are fatalists . . . ."

Then she tells of the moving of refugees from Corfu to Marseilles; of how cholera broke out on a ship; how she established a diet kitchen in the cook's galley and finally of the strict quarantine; then of bringing, on her last trip, some seven hundred Serbian boys to France, three hundred of whom were sent on to England to school.

By 1916 there were numerous Committees in France trying to help Serbian refugees and Serbians in their own land. France and French women bore a brave part in meeting the needs presented to them. Mme. la Comtesse de Reinach had gone to Salonique and was the administrator for "Secours aux Armées d'Orient." She is a very great and great-hearted woman with much administrative ability. America has some claims upon her for she helped administer our Charities and softened the burdens of our compatriots in a strange land.

Our dear Miss Gladwin and her corps of nurses had been sent out in 1914 in a Greek ship with only dunnage bags for luggage. Her record is one to make you proud. Think of being in Belgrade when she could write of it,

"Every nook and corner filled with wounded; for days we literally walked over the dead and dying. We saw part of a battle . . . . Then the typhus epidemic came. . .

Salonique, 1917

" . . . Shepherds with their crooks, herding sheep, carrying little lambs; on the hillside a sheepfold, peasants beside wattled huts clad in sheep and goat skins; it seemed like Biblical days and then suddenly we heard a motor and over our heads was a modern French aeroplane. Everywhere ancient and modern life mingling; Eastern world and Western world; veiled women and Red Cross nurses; men on donkeys and great motor trucks. Nearly all nations going about in uniforms; white men, black men and yellow Annamites. The streets grow narrow, carts are drawn by buffaloes. A man comes with a dead pig across his shoulders. There is war craft on the water front and down in front of our hospital is a woman cuddling her little girl who is dressed in one of the pink American flannel dresses you sent. This war is surely the most terrible that mankind has ever seen. The Serbians are suffering fearfully but they are very brave and it is a daily miracle how they withstand all the strain. . .

It is perfectly bewildering, almost maddening, this mixture of life and death, of peace and war.

Loving gratitude to the Rector."

Signed---MARY GLADWIN.

Miss Gladwin was in Serbia for over three years and was really the sustaining power back of her own and Dr. Ryan's work.

We saw Miss Hansen and Miss St. Clair after they served in Belgium and just before they came to America seeking assistance for Serbia. When they had a vessel full of supplies and were en route to Salonique they sent us a delightful letter "as to friends who gave us our first gifts and our first encouragement."

In 1916 some of our own Ambulance men under Lovering Hill, Section Sanitaire No. 3, were on duty in Serbia. When Thanksgiving time approached we sent out a case of candies, honey and other things to eat. When the boys acknowledged the case they told us of the barrenness of life in Serbia; of the heat and the mud; and of the bravery of the people.

Workers, nurses and helpers of every sort used to come to us in Paris and one day one of the nurses who came wrote her name down as Amelia Peabody Tiliston. She had been in Serbia for more than a year and told us much of her experience. I never trust my memory in the matter of other people's stories and so I asked her to dictate to our secretary what she told us and here are a few paragraphs from what was set down:

"I joined Miss Simmonds in Italy and went to Salonique. The arrival was most interesting; the piers were crowded with soldiers of every nationality, in every variety of uniform. We remained there for a short time collecting Red Cross stuff which had been lying there for months waiting to be claimed. The Greeks had stolen a great many of the things and the blankets had been gnawed by rats. All this owing to the fact that there had been no Red Cross Representative to see to things generally.

We took what was still usable, leaving some for others and then we went on to a Serbian Hospital about eighteen kilometers from Monastir. We were twenty-four hours in a boxcar and it was freezing cold. Although we had been sent by the Medical Commission no one had been advised of our coming to this, the largest and best evacuation hospital in Macedonia. Although there were two thousand English nurses in Macedonia we were the first American ones."

Miss Tiliston writes in detail of the hospital, the patients and tells of one hundred beds made of woven branches and of straw laid upon the hard dirt floors.

"We had Roumanians, Serbians, some Bulgarians, some German prisoners and very occasionally a French soldier. There was an utter lack of comforts and warm clothing. The Serbians are delightful patients, very courageous in suffering and grateful for the care given them. They have suffered much. They endure very bravely. They are naturally clean, modest and delicate in their relationship toward their nurses. The Serbian has a virgin mind, a good heart and shows great adaptability. They are extremely nice to each other, without resentments and they are very devout. The army is democratic. The Field Marshal's brother may be a peasant carrying his produce to market. The women follow the Oriental customs and keep together and with them an engagement is as binding as marriage."

Miss Tiliston thinks that the Italian troops were the best behaved ones that she saw in Macedonia and that the Bulgarians were naturally cruel, but she says that in "that far land of Serbia the English were greatly loved."

Serbia! whose aspiration is the reunion of separated brothers. Serbia! land of the southern Slav whose beginnings are hidden in the mists of Time! Those who know the intangible Kingdom which you guard in your hearts echo the words of the man who stood for you in France:

"Oui, mes frères, en avant. Le Dieu est avec nous. Non pas le Dieu teuton, ni bulgare, ni magyar, ni turc, mais celui du Droit, de la justice et de la Liberté. La lutte contre le Mal est pénible, puisque'elle dure depuis des siècles. Mais nous vaincrons, et tous nous verrons de meilleurs jours".(18)

R. M. Vesnitch. 1916.

It was in La Patrie's edition of Thursday, August sixth, 1914, that we read:

We knew that on August 4th England's order for mobilization had been signed. In Alsace the Germans were shooting men who refused to furnish information and the Mayor of Saales had been shot for trying to carry to France news of the state of siege in Germany. Berlin had refused to answer England's ultimatum regarding the invasion of Belgium and the "war was on."

When the King and Queen of England were in Paris in the spring of 1914 it was the Choir Boys of Holy Trinity Church who sang for them---sang not only England's National Anthem but the Star Spangled Banner as well. The Choir School in connection with Holy Trinity Church is a very old institution in Paris. The Choristers were all English boys who were registered in the school for three years. The head-master of the school, the Rev'd H. Williams-Ashman, had gone to Germany on holiday and at the outbreak of the war Mr. Jephcott was in charge of the school.

With war an accomplished fact and financial problems immediate and pressing, the question of maintaining the Choir School was at once amongst the things that had to be discussed and almost immediately settled. The procession of boys coming to sing the daily service had already ceased and after much anxiety and effort the boys were finally started for London on August 12th. We were most anxious about them until a cable came announcing their safe arrival and this was followed by Mr. Jephcott's letter saying,

"I am afraid the time will be very long and the boys' voices all rusty before we return."

Miss Sibley, who was mother and sweetheart to the school, left for England on September second and left us the key to the House and garden at 68 rue de la Tour. Now I am sure you are thinking that we hung up the key on a convenient hook and left it there. We didn't; we sent the key to Mr. Fenton, vestryman, Irishman, gentleman, friend, who held the key to many things including his friends' hearts. Then the Rector decided, all at once, that the house could not be idle so it was put in order, a few comforts added and the house became for months a shelter for some Belgian gentlepeople.

More than thirty-five of the boys who had been educated in the Choir School of Holy Trinity Church, Paris, were amongst those who served in England's army and navy and some were amongst those who died for the Allies' cause.

I hope no one minds my copying these verses for you. I cut them out of a paper and saved them, for they seemed to me to be so understanding of the boys who like our own choristers had memories of a "playing field below", and at the last found courage to die in remembering the Cross on the little hill in Jewry.

In the first few weeks of August and September, 1914, the splendid British troops with volunteers and territorials coming to their aid, did their duty most heroically and helped assure the Belgian retreat and the victory of the Marne.

One evening we were sitting together in the twilight, my husband and I, when there came the steady tramp of feet and the sound of men's voices singing softly as they marched. As they passed we heard the words they sang, "The Son of God goes forth to War ....". It was some English soldiers going for their entrainement and singing as they went. I never hear that hymn without tears and a memory of those English voices.

August 4, 1914.

La Patrie! La Patrie!

Amongst other notes from La Patrie about the war we read that day:

"Trafalgar Square is black with crowds who are singing the National Hymn. Buckingham Palace is surrounded with crowds and near midnight their Majesties came out upon the balcony. Despite the gravity of the hour every one looks perfectly good humored."

History records the spirit in which England and England's children everywhere answered that proclamation. Henry Chappell, a railway porter at Bath, took up the challenge and wrote some wonderful verses in answer to it. Perhaps he was especially inspired because he lived in the place where the English crowned Edgar centuries before, in Bath where English life flowers with special charm and beauty.

"You boasted the Day and you toasted the Day,
And now the Day has come ......

And then follow four or five stirring verses ending with this one which reaches one's inmost heart,

"But after the Day there's a price to pay
For the sleepers under the sod,
And Him you have mocked for many a day--
Listen, and hear what He has to say:
"VENGEANCE IS MINE, I WILL REPAY,"
What can you say to God?"

There is a very definite rumor that still floats about that Lord Bertie had advised England not to take up arms. Before much time elapsed Lord Bertie was recalled to England and Lord Derby came to France as Ambassador in his stead. The English Consul, the Hon. Mr. Hearn and the Rev'd Mr. Blunt of the Embassy Church were England's best representatives in France through 1914-15-16-17. They exemplified in their own persons all that could be asked of those who are in representative positions.

In November, 1914, the English Field Marshal Earl Roberts was "dead in France" and a memorial service was held for him at the Embassy Church. 1915 came and went and Nurse Cavell was shot by German orders. Lord Kitchener, epitomizing the bravery of England's manhood, had gone from this earth and we in Paris who write so lightly, so briefly of these things, we Americans thought that we had no more tears to shed. From Canada the hosts had come and gone; from New Zealand,---and then the upstanding Anzac came. How everybody tagged at his heels when he came to Paris. He seemed like a man from another planet, the planet from which we had received a box of supplies. It was a most marvellous box, all lined with zinc and filled with the most beautiful knitted garments any one ever was pinned a handkerchief and in every handkerchief was tied a silver sixpence. It was a generous deed most graciously done and we loved Australia for it. We changed the coins into French money and then into shoes for little barefoot Belgian children, dozens and dozens of pairs of shoes. We have no trace as to who sent the box save this one little unsigned note:

"From a West Australian girl to her Belgian sister hoping these may be a comfort to her."

We had our gratitude for Canada too, for the Rector had two dollars from Canada with this note:

"Dear Sir, Please accept this mite for your great work. From a Canadian sewing girl."

The Scotch were ever objects of interest. They walked the streets of Paris with the same gallant swing as they walk Princess Street in Edinburgh. Once Mrs. Stannard Wood and Margaret Gordon gave a tea for a number of the "Black Watch" who were passing through Paris. One dear to Margaret Gordon was of their number. The piper led the way and only soldiers were the guests that day. Mrs. Wood's lovely apartment was full of them and they could all sit down and have the most heavenly things to eat,---all they wanted. Marthe, the concierge's little daughter, appeared on the scene with a basket of flowers and each soldier had a posey to wear when the tea was over and they went gaily away. They left for the front next morning. The ghostly piper(20) played for many of them when the battle to which they went was over. Margaret Gordon mourned her dead and we felt as their "ain folk" must have felt.

"I canna see ye, lad, I canna see ye
For a' yon glory that's aboot yer heid
Yon licht that haps ye an' the Hosts that's wi' ye
Aye, but ye live, an' it's mysel' that's deid."

We had all sorts of letters from England about all sorts of things, amongst them this one about food conditions:

"They say that in London everyone talks of food conditions. The thing is that food has been so unevenly distributed hitherto that a great many have much too much and a greater number much too little. How we are advancing toward Socialism when all must share. That is fair too. Why should we get legs of mutton and the cottagers just odd pounds of meat. Now a small family seldom sees a joint, nor many large ones either for that matter. For many weeks the butchers have had to cut all orders in half. We still have abundant fish and eggs at three and six to three and nine the dozen. Butter is very scarce but Dorothy scalds what milk we can buy and makes a little butter for table use."

There was an American Ward in the Coulter Memorial Hospital at S Grosvenor Square, London, and this in 1914. The Earl of Sandwich and the Hon Mrs. Cyril Ward were at the head of the hospital and the American ward was established and maintained by Mrs. Edmund Gates Hubbard in memory of her mother, Augusta Gray. For three years the Augusta ward was full of English soldiers and while Mrs. Hubbard was occupied in hospital service, she was also one of a group of women, all English but herself, doing night duty at a railway canteen. In one of her letters she says,

"I serve three nights a week. Last night we served over three thousand cups of tea with bread, butter and cake."

In 1917 Mrs. Hubbard came back to France to work. Her close friend Mrs. Sturgis, writing at this time of an air raid over London, says,

"The war horrors begin to get on my nerves. I am terrified of the raid. The last one was around Chester Street. A bomb fell in Green Park and broke the windows in the Ritz. All Lord Salisbury's windows were smashed and the big houses in St. James Place have no windows left at all."

Mrs. Sturgis' lovely gardens were stripped of all their fruits, and vegetables for the Military Hospitals and all but the most limited supply of milk from her dairy was sent to the Day Nurseries where poor children were fed and sheltered. She herself went with her daughter to work in a Munitions factory.

I would remind you that the Choristers of Holy Trinity Church had all been sent home to England at the beginning of the War, and that Mr. H. Williams-Ashman, the assistant at Holy Trinity Church was a prisoner in Germany where he had gone at the end of July. It was Christmas time before he reached Paris again. He told us how he had reached Cologne late in July and had found that city full of soldiers and every appearance of serious trouble. He tried to return to Paris but was refused permission to purchase tickets and was ordered to proceed on his journey. He was interned in Hamburg, part of the time on a ship, until he was finally allowed to return to his work. Then he had another adventure with German "Militarism". It was on the Saturday when the Sussex was torpedoed. He had gone over to England to see his mother who was very ill and was then returning to France. The Rector came home at about three o'clock to find this telegram awaiting him:

While we were wondering at the wording of the telegram we had news of the torpedoing of the Sussex. Late that afternoon our friend reached Paris, tired, dirty and wearing an old shawl over his shoulders. He had given his overcoat to someone else who was cold and soaking wet. When the account of the torpedoing was submitted to the United States government, Mr. Ashman's sworn testimony was part of the evidence.

What follows are extracts from his letter just as it appears in our manuscript book:

"Dear Mrs. Watson,

You have asked me for an account of the torpedoing of the Sussex. The whole scene is forever graven on my memory .... I was at the station early .... I was placed in the queue for examination of passports at Folkestone. The whole compartment was full of Spanish speaking people .... My fellow travellers .... theatrical people .... had been in the States with Signor Granados .... I was the first passenger aboard the Sussex .... my deck chair amidships on the starboard side. My deck neighbors were Mrs. and Miss Hilton, young Crocker and several Americans evidently coming to France to serve. We were under way about 1:30 ....

(Three hours later)

After fetching my bag from the Saloon I settled down in my deck chair to read the "Guardian" and finding it even duller than usual decided to have forty winks. I had not closed my eyes more than a minute or two before I found myself flung into the air and then onto my hands and knees on the deck with water pouring all over me. People ran shrieking "Torpedoed" .... In a few moments I found myself surrounded by an agonized group of Spaniards begging absolution .... A few Latin phrases came to my mind and with these I was able to reassure them .... I saw a young admiralty courier who shouted "Come on!" Soon we were lowering rafts."

(Here follow some passages of most painful reading.)

"By and by I went toward the bows and found that in front of the Captain's bridge there was nothing but a confused mass of twisted iron and wood. Just below I could hear groans and men calling in French and English. I climbed down into the wreckage and could see people wedged in. It was exceedingly hard to move as there were coils and coils of fine wire everywhere presumably from the torpedo. I called for help and a seaman and I extricated six people .... Everyone was terribly injured. We went along the decks calling out for doctors. At length a young man lying on the deck, ghastly pale and evidently suffering, raised himself on his arm and said, "Can I do anything?" . ... We propped him up where he was with his broken leg and he directed our clumsy efforts. The Captain, a brave officer, was injured by the fall of the mainmast but the first thing he did when he could move was to look after the wireless .... When it became apparent that some of the bulkheads would hold the boats were called back, their occupants drenched with water and numbed by the biting March wind ....

After the first fifteen minutes there was no panic although the women were much more collected and practical than the men. I was told off to reassure people, making the tour of the decks every twenty minutes. There was a Mrs. Mellor of Lausanne who was full of practical suggestions and most helpful ....

Shortly after midnight the "Marie-Thérèse" was alongside. We placed all the wounded on mats to transfer them to the destroyers. I was last with half a dozen others including two Irish priests who were on their way to Australia. They had never slid down a rope before and I hope they may never slide so quickly again for they landed on the deck below with a bang.

The sailors on the destroyer gave us coarse black coffee, the most delightful thing I have ever tasted .... I had no time to be afraid. There was so much to do. I can not write more of the gruesome things for over ninety non-combatants were killed; and think of the injured. I know how real prayer is when one prays at such an hour. ..

Professor Mark Baldwin's family were on board and injured."

(Signed) E. H. WILLIAMS-ASHMAN.

It is 1916 and French's "contemptible army" is still fighting. Captain Graeme Fenton, A.S.C.O.C. is detailed to conduct two "Generals" to the Front. General French's headquarters are now at St. Omer and so St. Omer is the designated destination for the two Generals. Captain Fenton writes:

"At Abbeville we noticed a bit of a commotion outside the hotel and found a lot of girls and men who had never seen Scotch kilts before examining with wonder some of the London Scottish who had arrived the night before.

Next morning, five miles out from St. Omer we heard the first sound of War and the steady distant firing of guns. While we ate a picnic lunch some school boys arrived from goodness knows where and insisted upon shaking us all by the hand and saying, "Preeti Angland". We found they wanted to say

"Long live the English."

During the evening the Generals had three interviews with General French and next day we went to the firing line. We went first to a great Clearing Hospital to wait for the King's surgeon and here a very amusing incident occurred. The General stood talking just beside the gate, the sentry was presenting arms, the sergeant was at "attention", when a small urchin appeared. He had found a half-burned cigarette in the gutter. He promptly picked it up and went straightaway to Sir W----- who was smoking his pipe and asked for a light by making signs; the old gentleman turned around, put his left hand on his hip and held the stem of his pipe between the fingers and thumb of his right hand, put the pipe between his teeth and smoked a lovely glow while the urchin lit his cigarette. I would have given much for a camera especially to photograph the faces of the sentry and the sergeant.

We passed thousands of Refugees as we went on to Bethune. In Bethune itself were masses upon masses of people; no rooms, no beds to be had; water ten centimes a cup and dreadful sights to see. Outside of a big hospital crowds of refugees were standing. One man said,

"English soldiers fine; do not eat all their tinned meat; save some for us."

"We saw one kiltie with a splintered leg and all he said was,

"Now if I could only have caught the man that fired that gun."

Now we came to most terrible desolation, burned men and burned horses. Our battery of six guns was firing a short on Illes every five minutes. It was uncanny to see the gunners playing cards, playing leapfrog and kicking a bundle of rags around in place of a football.

We were now between two fires .... seven aeroplanes were over our heads .... On the return trip we passed thousands of hungry homeless refugees ....

When we visited the camps of the Indians (Hindoos) between Orleans and Paris we found them anxious to go to the Front. These Hindoos were mountain folk used to colder and to wetter weather than one finds in France. They said that the people of their own village would beat them for liars if they told the things they had seen in France."

One day a message "Magnenton" went from Paris to Captain Fenton. Personal telegrams not being allowed to pass, Captain Fenton's father had arranged this way of announcing in terms of ammunition the birth of Frances Norah Fenton who, two months later, was baptized in Holy Trinity Church and became "The Colonel's God-daughter."

The English troops were very little in Paris now and the strains of "Tipperary" were a long, long way down the road to War and death. My sixpenny edition No. 549, is packed away but will any one who ever heard "Tipperary" sung in Paris forget? Never, never, never; and now and forever "my heart's right there!" Sunny days or grey days! daylight or starlight, when I think of the men who went and of the women who loved them.

1914-15-16 had passed and then in the golden month of May, 1917, the Royal Foot Guards kept festival in Paris. We had had almost no music in all these years and then the Guards came in their vivid scarlet coats with their superb band, and they delighted the Parisians and perhaps they were just their very finest when they played at the Arc de Triomphe.

The music and the color were for an hour but England's men; and women kept England's honor bright in every form of service. The wife of E. V. Lucas came over to France and had a home for little children very near the place where need and danger were greatest. Mrs. Lucas is a sister of Mr. Hugh Reid Griffin and he as well as Mrs. Griffin are American citizens of English descent, both of them working all through the war.

Lady Waterloo, American born and the widow of Sir Sidney Waterloo, Lord Mayor of London, was directing hospital work in Cannes and caring in her own lovely house for many officers who were spent and broken in the service. An English soldier writing to us from Flanders in January, 1916, says,

The soldier who wrote these words was an English boy who had lived for years in St. Louis.

America! Why, she had been part of it all from the first day. If England's sons came from the utmost gates of the Empire, even so American sons and daughters have gone to the farthest bounds of the earth and everywhere they are part of the life of the world.

All the world honors the heroism of that first splendid English army that came to France, perhaps even more so the heroism of those who followed after.

The first were men of privilege, bred to a sense of obligation---"Noblesse Oblige!" Those who came after had always had the commerce and the labour of England to care for and while war was an adventure for them no less than for the first Army, it was an adventure that demanded of them not only life but livelihood. And of all who wrote and sang for England in this hour, none sang through tears more sad than Rudyard Kipling who could say,

And his son was dead.

So they went, England's boys. Horace Herr, American, wrote from Cambridge,

"At every gate a bayonet; so today I watched them go, twelve thousand territorials---the cream of England's youth and manhood. God! how lonely England is without them."

Early in 1917 Bishop Brent who had been at the British Front in France as well as with our American workers in Paris, crossed over to London where he was to be the speaker at a great meeting in Albert Hall. He had made several important speeches in Paris and on his arrival in Paris writes to the Rector,

"The Albert Hall meeting has been changed to a Service at St. Paul's which seems to be more seemly and fitting. You must not speak of any service I have rendered. Whatever I did was made possible by you."

America was now declared to be in a state of war with Germany; Good Friday, 1917, had come and gone and Bishop Brent was the preacher at St. Paul's on April twentieth, 1917. America's colors hung with the English colors. Our Ambassador, Mr. Page, who came to the service with Mrs. Page, had all the cheers that would be given an Ambassador as he came through the crowds that lined the streets; all the cheers an Ambassador would have and many more because he was much loved in England. The King and Queens, the Lord Mayor and the Sheriffs and the people came and wore tiny American flags pinned to their coats. The Stars and Stripes floated from Victoria Tower at Westminster side by side with the Union Jack; never before had any flag but Britain's floated there. In St. Paul's an American bishop told England how America had found her soul and with what purpose the people had entered on the fight."

And then came America's men---America's boys. What a revelation "our boys" were of America to England and to the English people! The Archbishop of Canterbury in a letter to my husband says,

"Dear Mr. Watson,

"I am all thankfulness that our people are now acting without reserve, on behalf of what is sound and right."

Shall we leave our English Chapter just where the Archbishop's words leave it, and putting all prides aside for humanity's sake "act together without reserve, on behalf of what is sound and right?"

"Will Madame come to the telephone and speak to Madame Cosby?"

Most certainly I would come to the telephone or anywhere else to speak to the charming lady whose husband, Major Cosby, was Military Attaché of the American Embassy in France in 1914. Mrs. Cosby had just received a large case of hospital supplies from Mrs. Dunn of our Embassy in Rome. Mrs. Dunn had established work rooms at the very outset of the War and had from ninety to one hundred helpers and her first case of supplies and our first hospital gifts are recorded as being the work of Americans living in Rome. Then in January, 1915, came letters and trunks of clothing from "The Alassio Working Party," in Aid of Soldiers and Refugees.

Miss Carow, who is Mrs. Roosevelt's sister, wrote us that she had learned through her niece Ethel (Mrs. Richard Derby) of the work we were doing and that she was glad to send us these gifts for distribution. Miss Carow herself has her villa at Porto Maurizio, a pleasant house from whose wide gallery floats her country's flag. She wrote,

"I am the only American living at Porto Maurizio but I have had much kind help from my Italian friends although now they must work for the earthquake sufferers. The lady who sends the scarf on which is embroidered "do una Italiana" has just sent her sons to help in the work of rescue. My niece has been very ill since her return to America.

EMILY TYLER CAROW.

In these cases were some lovely clothes sent by English ladies who wished to divide with French and Belgian ladies.

The solidarity of Americans in Europe, their instant response to need must certainly impress you as you read these pages.

In Paris an Italian hospital was established and Madame Titoni, with the Ambassador, gave it her special patronage.

There were cordial felicitations from the world of men who know best what the ties of race and blood mean when Italy took her stand with the Latin races, knowing as she must have known that German barbarians threatened to submerge those races as well as the Slays. With the political questions relating to all of this I have nothing to do, although I might write down much that I have heard. I want to catch for you the spirit of the hour that is past, above all to keep before our minds the indissoluble bond that binds the races of the earth into one "humanity". America was always "in it" even when she was not "of it". I speak of this War. Coincident or almost coincident with the need for hospitals for wounded soldiers in Italy an American born woman was using all her gifts, her position, her privilege and her money as well as her devoted personal service to meet that need. Evelyn, the daughter of Mrs. John Mackay, who was also Evelyn, Princesse Colonna di Stigliano, was the head of the hospital at Santa Margherita and fit for such service because during the months of uncertainty she had trained herself for service. In one of her letters to us she writes,

Well! for her it has come as for the myriad hosts of those who have laid down their lives in a great cause.

Then came the hour when America held out helping hands to Italy and Mr. Charles Carroll went there representing and commissioned by the American Red Cross.

"Since arriving in Italy I have been to Geneva", writes Mr. Carroll to the Rector, "to Geneva and to Milan and other smaller places to organize relief work for the refugees. Countess Costa, the sister of Abe Ranney, is working in the Milan Hospital .... There is poignant need of relief and we are doing everything possible at Milan. I opened a refuge for women and children to be maintained for a year. It is a great charity for these poor people make our heart bleed. Driven from home with no money and only the clothes they wear they are the pictures of despair; the women are in absolute terror of the Hun. Italy is putting up a good fight after having been traitorously betrayed. I begin to be homesick for the rue Monsieur (his Paris home), for my lady and my work with you of whom I am so fond."

C. C. OF C.

The Marquise de Talleyrand's daughter is the Princesse Ruspoli de Poggio Suasa. She, too, has claims upon America since her maternal grandfather was an American. She is the sort of a Princesse who makes you wish that every community had one just like her living in it. The Prince is Italian but with some Roumanian blood in his veins. He has been for years in the diplomatic service of his country and was Chargé d'Affaires in the intervals between M. Titoni's going and the coming of his successor to Paris. The Princesse is both liked and loved in Paris. When she knew that we were keeping documents and pictures for America she sent me an unusual and charming set of postcards, pictures of the Italian Royal family all stamped with the royal crown and either "E" or "V. E.", Elena or Victor Emmanuel. With the pictures came this note,

"Dearest Mrs. Watson:

Here are the pictures taken by Queen Elena and by our King. They were sold in a bazar of charity years ago; otherwise are not in circulation. You will be startled by one of them which you can burn if you wish. (it was a very young picture of the Crown Prince of Germany).

Very affectionately yours,

PALMA RUSPOLI."

It is 1918. The Italian Army has made its famous retreat. Before me lies a little note written on paper that was printed in Bruges. The top of the sheet has a really charming picture depicted on its whiteness. Two women walking on a street, behind them gabled houses and a church tower. I think the women must be Madame de Sayes and her granddaughter Yvonne de Bel. They were amongst the first Belgian exiles who went to England. Later we knew them in Paris and then Yvonne was the betrothed of an Italian officer. He writes her wonderful letters and calls her "ma deary". He tells of the sad pilgrimage after the painful days of October 27th, 29th and 30th; of how soldiers and officers alike lost all their luggage and much equipment; of rest at night on the bare earth and sometimes of a château. His first message ends,

Again he writes,

"Don't listen to any slander against our soldiers. They obey orders even with their torn and broken hearts. The French and English who have come to help us will tell you that we can fight and that we know how to die. The hardest hours are ours now; we hear no other voice but duty. We must be victors. History will understand and write down our motives. We must guard our Army's reputation. God protect our Army. Viva l'Italia. Viva l'Latini"

Then came a night when we were with Mr. and Mrs. Tuck at Monte Carlo. Hour after hour we could hear trains passing, trains full of soldiers shouting as they passed close to the shores of the blue Mediterranean and there were tears in our eyes and on our pillows. Oh! dear boys and men singing as you went! How much happiness died with you when you died. How much sadness came to sit by the hearthstone when laughter went away with you.

We landed in America on New Year's Day, 1919. There was with us a fellow passenger on L'Espagne, an American Red Cross Worker en route for his home in California. During the voyage he had spoken somewhat of his experiences and amongst others was this one that every American will understand.

He said that he had gone a most difficult and laborious journey up a mountain where a little hut sheltered the sentry on duty at the frontier. When he and his assistant had given their gift of supplies and were warmed and comforted they said a few words in English to one another. The Italian officer in charge threw his arms around them and besought them to stay for twenty-four hours. He told them that he had gone to America when he was very young, that he had not been naturalized and that he had always dreamed of going home to Italy. He had gone back to his native land when Italy needed him and entered the Army. For months he had been at this sentry post and he was terribly worn.

"Oh!" he said, "oh! how I remember through the long hours your blessed land. It is to me like the thought of Paradise. America! America! And yet I cry with all my heart

There came a day in 1683 when the world faced this crisis---Will it be the Cross or the Crescent which shall dominate Europe? Three hundred thousand Turks led by their Vizer were encamped without the walls of Vienna. It was Poland's great Christian king, John Sobeski who came with seventy thousand Polish hussars and won the battle for the Cross. Poland in its palmy days was larger than France or Spain. It has been the birthplace of men of transcendent power and genius from the days of Copernicus until this day when Paderewski has given his art for the life of his country.

America owes more than food to Poland, more than a scant gift. When she was fighting for her liberties one of Poland's great sons, Kosciuszko, came to fight with and for her. It was of him that Jefferson wrote,

"He is as pure a son of Liberty as I have ever known and of that Liberty which is to go to all and not to the few and rich alone."

Kosciuszko was the son of a Polish noble and he was also a great engineer. He was appointed by Washington as a Chief Engineer in the Continental Army, built and completed Fort Putnam and had charge of the fortifications at West Point. The Cadet Corps of 1828 erected a monument to him. Think now of this man, Brigadier-General on Washington's recommendation "for long, faithful and honorable service in the American Army", think of him and the hosts of his compatriots who are a part of all the American life that is and then think of what should be our attitude toward Poland itself.

During the War many Americans in America came to know the son of Prince Ponatowski. He was often in America recruiting for Poland's Army. His father is very near the ancient throne of Poland and his mother is an American, his father having married Miss Sperry of California. She is perhaps the best known representative of Poland in Paris. When I speak of a person as representative of a country I think that the representation that comes from the finest living in a place of social power is often more important than any purely official position can ever be. She is a most loyal exponent of all that is best in her native land and was amongst the very first to answer the cries of want and suffering. There are many, many Polish students living in France, both boys and girls. They are, almost all of them, of most limited means. When the War broke out there were hundreds of them in distressing and immediate need. M. Emile Boutroux, the great philosopher, Mlle. Vallery-Radot and a number of well-known French men and women formed a committee for the assistance of the Poles in Paris and there were some things we could do to help. They were all very proud and wanted to work or give some treasure in exchange for bread and shelter and none of them but felt with pride that they had a share in America's life.

The great fight is still on, your fight and my fight, until all the world shall know "that Liberty which is to go to all and not to the few and the rich alone."

"The city of St. Petersburg will tomorrow be like a camp and this goes on in Moscow and in every Russian city. The people are displaying extraordinary restraint as to the ultimate issues; they only say quietly: 'We must' and repeat the Russian saying 'You can not die twice but one death you can not evade'."

In Paris we had only time for a longer gasp than usual when we knew that Russia and Germany were to fight. Extras were published but you had to go to the news-stands to get them for the newsvendors were not allowed to call their wares in the street; and since France and England were rising for the battle there was hardly time to breathe between great epoch-making events. Of course Parisians thought that the Russians would advance into Germany. On September third, 1914, there was a rumor current in Paris that some Russian regiments were coming to France via England and Archangel and we kept hoping they would come soon enough to help drive the Germans back from the Marne. War! why we lived so tremendously, so tensely that minutes seemed like decades. During the first few months of 1916 several Russian pamphlets were sent to the Rector from Russia; one by the Baron de Baye put us in possession of much information not otherwise to be had and all of them are saved for the historian of the future.

Russians were both numerous and popular in France, and we had all counted on seeing the Czar in Paris in the autumn of 1914.

For ourselves, we had just begun to know a little of Russia and Russian people. We had seen Russian Dancers and now we began to realize that in Russia the people use the dance to express their feelings: the changes of the seasons and for private and personal joys; for the expression of their life. We came, too, to know that before Russian Grand Opera was known to the world the itinerant psalm singers kept, like a nosegay of flowers, the folk-songs of the people. Think of a people whose impulse is to sing, whose emotions are expressed in dancing; think of a country where wheat and oats and rye grow like oceans of grain and where sugar factories are built on private estates; where practically every climate known to man is to be found. Think of the culture of the men and women of the class who used to rule and then think of Russia when there shall be schools and education for all.

In February, 1917, the Orchestra of the 3d Russian Brigade gave a concert at the house of the Duc de Vendôme in Paris. The gifts offered were in support of the French Hospital No. 233. The day being fair the invitations were very generally accepted. The wife of the Russian Ambassador, Madame Isvolsky, with many of her official household, was present and the music was very fine. It seemed so strange a few weeks later when an American lady, whose name you all know, showed me a wonderful jeweled pendant and said,

"I bought this at the sale of Madame Isvolsky's jewels; it will be a wonderful heirloom for my little granddaughter."

For the Russian débâcle had come and we were swung centuries further from the world we had known. The fate of Russia's Royal family was uncertain and every one spoke of them as the Czar and his family. One day a loving, human note rang out when a young Princess spoke of the Czarovitch with tears in her blue eyes and said,

While the world in France was still breathless from what it had heard of the Russian Revolution, I went one day through the tower doors and into the Cloisters only to find myself accosted by a very distinguished looking lady who said,

"It is granted before it is asked if there is anything I can do," I answered, "will you come into the Rectory with me?"

As Louise opened the door we went in together. Just opposite the entrance and above the stairway hung M. Romberg's picture of King Albert; above it is a group of silken flags which had been there for many months. My visitor, looking up, saw the flags and was suddenly almost transformed.

"Take that down!" she cried, "take that down; it is the Imperial flag and I am a Russian. Take it down !"

To say that I was startled is to put it mildly, but I answered her,

"Oh, please don't mind seeing it just this once; we have been too busy even to think of our flag."

When she was calm again she told me her errand.

"I am a Russian in bitter sorrow; I came to ask the Rector's prayers and your own. If I were hungry you would feed me; if I were naked you would clothe me; give me your prayers."

She went away just as the Rector came into the house. We never knew more of her than that.

At Havre there was a Russian Red Cross Committee for supplying bread to Russian prisoners and we, with many others, dried all our tea grounds and sent them for the prisoners in the camps.

Dr. Wollaston, who is, I believe, a native of Pittsfield, Mass., sent the Rector money from Petrograd to help this work amongst the needy. Dr. Wollaston was the Czar's dentist and we came to know him personally when he was administering a hospital for refugee children in Switzerland.

Amongst the Russians whom we knew in Paris was one whose name will some day be known in America. She has learned English that she may come to us speaking our tongue.

Tina Illish. We have a wonderful picture of her in the role of Prince Igar, which role she played first in Moscow. After the débâcle she went to sing for the Russian troops in France and you shall read the story in her own words. She calls it

"It was eleven o'clock at night and that night a night in June of 1917. I had just gone to bed when my concierge rang me up to say that two Russian soldiers were in her loge asking to speak to me. As I was not dressed to receive guests, I spoke to them through the telephone. They asked me if I would go to the Front and sing at their great religious festival; they actually wanted me to start the very next morning. This could not possibly be done as a Military permit was necessary and to obtain this we must have five or six days' time. I said, "if you wish me to come you must see to the passports for me." This did not daunt my two Russians at all. The Czar was dethroned; the ancient régime had been overthrown and sure of their newly acquired freedom and its power they promised to have all ready by the next morning. Sure enough they went to the Russian Embassy and cajoled the Secretary into sending a special courier to the Ministère de la Guerre to get the permit signed. They were right. No one cared to refuse members of the Soviet just then. The permit was then taken by special courier to Madame Apostl, wife of the financial agent, for she was to chaperone me to the Russian troops.

I took a National costume and a 'Kokochink(21) and all was ready by five in the afternoon when we left Paris, I having passed the day in rehearsing my repertoire of Russian Folk-Songs.

We traveled by train until four o'clock in the morning when we reached the little wayside station; there a Military automobile was waiting to take us to the Camp. It was a truly beautiful run in the early dawn of a summer day. We went through a magnificent mountainous country; never, never shall I forget the glory of the sunrise. When two hours were passed we were at a country residence. Two officers had given up their rooms for us and the men, hearing of our coming, had gone miles and miles away to buy some fruit for us. Our table was lovely with leaves and flowers which the men had gotten to do us honors. We thought it wise to take some rest as there was a day full of emotion ahead of us. We were invited by the Colonel to attend a religious ceremony in the field. It was most impressive. Then came delegations from other camps to luncheon. Speeches were made about the newly won liberty. As we were the only ladies present we were constantly changing seats that we might speak to all a little. Soon another rest became imperative and then I rehearsed for the concert. The men had made a stage in the forest and I shall never forget that rehearsal. The rays of the setting sun fell upon my face; back of me was a dark pine forest; before me a great open space. The temperature was exquisite, and the reasons for my countrymen's presence in this land of France, away from all they loved, faded from my mind as I stood preparing to bring back to them through songs, the scenes of their own hearths and homes. At eight o'clock the vast open space was crowded with thousands of Russian peasant boys, a solid grey mass, looking expectantly toward a stage curtain so cleverly painted by one of their comrades. The stage was lit by acetylene motor lamps which from the trees threw their light upon the performers. I was so terribly exhausted by the day's emotions I felt I could not sing, but strength came when I looked at the boys. I sang them the songs of their own land looking down into faces full of tender yearning, faces down which the tears were streaming. I sang and sang, glad to give the message from home; sometimes they sang with me. When it was over they passed to speak to me and to thank me and the shy ones touched my clothes to feel if I were real.

After this I slept the sleep of exhaustion. They begged me to stay for always, but the next day I went back to Paris, voiceless."

TINA ILLISH.

We have Tina Illish's programme made for that concert. On it is the figure of a soldier bearing a banner above the songs:

"Une voix d'outre-tombe, celle de tant de héros morts au champ d'honneur, nous dicte notre devoir de demain."(22)

Baron de Baye.

Before we turn to the story of our relations with France you must know that you have had a little share in helping the refugees from Roumania. In Switzerland there was a group of Roumanian ladies in exile on account of the War. Then came a day when they needed food. They had been protégés of Queen Carmen Sylva and when she died, Princesse Poggio Suasa knew about them and through her a little group of American women in Paris used now and again to send a hundred franc note to help care for them.

The Duke of Edinburgh's daughter, Queen Marie, was at the head of much of the relief work for her countrywomen and through the long hours of Roumania's wavering she kept bravely at her task.

The first Roumanian journal published in Paris was of date July 13, 1917. Its very first lines announce that it has birth that it may be a voice between Roumania's Army and the Allies. At this same time there was a very striking ceremony held at the Sorbonne. General Sarrail had brought back from Mont Athos the standard of Etienne le Grand, Prince of Moldovo (1500), where it had rested for centuries in a convent. Its recovery and return were made the occasion of the ceremony at the Sorbonne when Roumania's representative received back the standard in the presence of the President of the French Republic and M. Paul Deschanel was the speaker.

In these days when Kings and Emperors are almost pre-historic titles it is interesting to know how thrones have been won or bestowed. The Marquise de Talleyrand told me of how King Carol became King of Roumania; and a story even more interesting of Queen Carmen Sylva. When she had made an end of telling the tale I asked her to write it down for me and I write it for you; it has a most unexpected American note in it.

2 Avenue Elisse Reclus

Dear Mrs. Watson:

. . . My Ruspoli grandsons and my nephews are all four serving in Italy. My second grandson and my sister's two boys are now in the Corso advancing toward Trieste. They are all three bombardiers in the front lines so you may imagine our gnawing anxiety. My eldest grandson passed through here a short time ago on his way to Roumania on a mission to instruct the Roumanian soldiers. I have good news of him. He has been a good deal with the Roumanian Royal family whom he had known as a child when his parents, my son-in-law and daughter, were at the Legation in Bucharest. Sindia and the little children rode with the little Princess every day. Poor young Princess Mary was then so homesick for England it was pathetic,---she, the daughter of the Duke of Edinburgh so far from her people.

King Carol was very able, very conscientious and exempt from any weakness. The Princess Mary used to say that the King had no faults except that he expected others to be the same.

One day at dinner at the Palace in the pine forest of Sindia I was seated next to the King when the conversation turned upon how in life one thing led to another---how a casual remark might lead to great consequences. "I am a living example of what you are saying. I owe my throne to a remark of my old governess, who after leaving us became reader to Empress Eugenie." "How interesting! Will your Majesty tell me what happened?" The King continued, "When the Emperor Napoleon III was searching for a Prince to go to Roumania he could find none that seemed to answer all the requirements. One day at luncheon this difficulty was the subject of conversation and my old governess said, 'Why would not one of my old pupils answer your need?' 'That is an idea, Mademoiselle; write to the Prince and ask if such an offer would be acceptable from me for one of his sons. My father accepted for me and I became King of Roumania.

Then the letter tells of Carmen Sylva and at the end comes this story.

"One day we sat together, the Queen and I, speaking of things Eternal, when my eye fell on a tiny shapeless ring which she wore on her small finger. 'I see you are looking at my ring', said the Queen. 'It was given me by the dearest friend whom I ever had but whom I never saw. I must tell you about him. Many years ago when I published my first book of poems, I received a letter signed by a man in California who had read the poems and whose appreciation and comprehension of me was keener than those of any one I had ever met. I answered him and thus began a correspondence that lasted over twenty years, carried to and fro by nearly every mail. I tried to induce him to come here as it was impossible for me to go to him; but he was an invalid and could not. So Life went on; his letters being my greatest help in trials and in difficult hours. Alas! one day came the news that he had died. His last words were for me, that not having seen me in this world he would meet me in the next. He asked that this little ring of soft gold be sent to me and that I would wear it always. It will be buried with me. I have not taken it off since it came.'

Tears were in the eyes of both of us. I shall never forget her as she stood by the window overlooking the Carpathian Mountains gazing into space, her soul far away. She died a year ago. I wonder if her friend met her at the threshold. I have diverted much from the beginning of this letter but 'One thing leads to another.'

I hope the dear Rector is well and not too tired with his unceasing charities and I hope to see you very soon.

Always yours very affectionately,

Bessie de Talleyrand-Perigord.

France
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