Did I mention above that I am at present in the status, practically, of a non-flying member? On arriving at the front, one is not rushed straightway to the cannon’s mouth, but rather allowed to get acclimated a bit first, to have a few preliminary voyages to look around, etc. During my week here, there has been little flying and I haven’t even seen the front, only heard the guns occasionally. Of my three flights, two were just short _tours de champs_. But the other: never in my wildest Blériot days did I do a wilder one. Coming from Pau where I had tried some stunts, I thought I was a bit of an acrobat, second only to Navarre, Guynemer and a few others. So arriving at a safe height, I started to go through the _répertoire_. First came a loop which got around to the vertical point--a quarter turn and then slipped, ending in a vertical corkscrew or climbing barrel turn or whatever you want to call it--then losing momentum and just naturally tumbling. I didn’t know what was going on--only that it wasn’t right; they told me afterward. After that came the _renversements_ and vertical turns, etc., and not a thing came out. Lost--I got lost thirty times and had to hunt all around to see where I was. Nothing went right and I kept getting madder and madder and poorer and poorer. They were all laughing down below and wondering what was going on up there. Eventually the party ended--one of the old pilots told me that that one flight equalled about thirty hours over the lines and the commander advised against a repetition of the performance, and so I went and lay down. Two hours later I began to feel that perhaps I could stand on my feet again; did you ever have _mal-de-mer_? So now I really ought to begin to learn something, having acquired that all essential first knowledge of ignorance, which all good students should have. And in the meantime perhaps I shall go and combat the Wily Hun. Said W. Hun need not worry about my bothering him if he doesn’t keep fooling around under my nose till I’m ashamed not to go after him. I’m not bloodthirsty a bit, especially till I learn to fly, and the lack of combats isn’t going to keep me awake nights for a while yet. But the bunkmate seems to have gone to bed; it’s almost ten--a most unprecedented hour for me to be up, so the end approaches. Kind remembrances as usual--use your discretion and don’t forget that long tale of “Washington Social Tid-Bits” you spoke of--gossip if you prefer.... As ever, STUART. * * * * * The Next Day. Addenda: Your letter on just arriving home has been with me some time and truly brought joy to my heart in this desolate land. (The “desolate” seems to fit in though not applying to the land in question at all.)...