Just think! lily of the valley grows wild here, and you can get a bushel in a morning; the whole place is sweet with the perfume. May 29, 1915. We got twelve more patients Wednesday,--six left. I still have fifteen; this lot were all ill. One man is quite a character. The doctor put him on milk diet the first day--but he did not approve, so he went to the village and bought a loaf of bread and some ham. Between the florist of the village and the wife of one of the soldiers I am kept well supplied with roses. I wish I could share my riches with you. I am anxiously waiting to hear of the safe arrival of the Twenty-fourth; as we have heard nothing, they must be all right. It is hard to have them go but I cannot understand the attitude of those who will not go or who object to their men and boys going. You are just beginning to feel now what they have been suffering here since August last. Madam L'H---- was called back to Verdun to-day; she was supposed to have three weeks' holidays, but has only been away ten days. She is not fit to go back but there is no help for it. There was great excitement here when Italy finally declared war. It is awful to think of the brutes throwing bombs on Venice. I do hope they will not do any harm there. I must say good-night, for I am tired. I am up at half-past five every morning and seldom get off duty before nine at night. June 20, 1915. Yesterday we got five patients,--the four worst were consigned to me. One poor chap was shot through the body and the spine was injured; they do not know just what the extent of the injury is, but he is completely paralyzed from the waist down. Fortunately he is very small, so it is not difficult to take care of him; he is the most cheerful soul, and says he has much to be thankful for as he has never suffered at all. When he was shot he simply had the sensation of his legs disappearing. When he fell he said to a comrade, "Both my legs have gone," but he had no pain at all. His comrade assured him that he had not lost his legs, but he said he could not believe it until he got to the hospital. He has received the Medaille Militaire for bravery, and his comrades said he certainly deserved it. He is so glad to get here, where it is real country and quiet. We put him on a chaise longue on the balcony to-day and he has been out of doors all day long. It is after ten o'clock, but I am still at the Ambulance. We are waiting for a train that is bringing us fifteen wounded directly from Alsace. Poor souls, they will be glad to get here, for they have been a long time on the way. No letters this week; regulations are very strict again, and they are holding up all mail for eight or ten days. June 22, 1915.