[Page Heading: TO MRS. FFOLLIOTT] _To Mrs. ffolliott._ VILLA LES CHRYSANTHEMES, LA PANNE, BELGIUM, _16 May._ DARLING OLD POOT, One line, to wish you with all my heart a happy birthday. I shan't forget you on the 22nd. Will you buy yourself some little thing with the enclosed cheque? This war becomes a terrible strain. I don't know what we shall do when four nephews, a brother-in-law, and a nephew to be are in the field. I get quite sick with the loss of life that is going on; the whole land seems under the shadow of death. I shall always think it an idiotic way of settling disputes to plug pieces of iron and steel into innocent boys and men. But the bravery is simply wonderful. I could tell you stories which are almost unbelievable of British courage and fortitude. I am coming home soon to give some lectures, and then I hope to come out here again. Bless you, dear Poot, Your loving SARAH. * * * * * _17 May._--I saw a most curious thing to-day. A soldier in the Pavilion St. Vincent showed me five 5-franc pieces which he had had in his pocket when he was shot. A piece of shrapnel had bent the whole five until they were welded together. The shrapnel fitted into the silver exactly, and actually it was silvered by the scrape it had made against the coin. I should like to have had it, but the man valued his souvenir, so one didn't like to offer him money for it. A young Canadian found a comrade of his nailed to a door, and stone dead, of course. When did he die? A Belgian doctor told Mrs. Wynne that in looking through a German officer's knapsack he found a quantity of children's hands--a pretty souvenir! I write these things down because they must be known, and if I go home to lecture to munition-workers I suppose I must tell them of these barbarities. Meanwhile, the German prisoners in England are getting country houses placed at their service, electric light, baths, etc., and they say girls are allowed to come and play lawn tennis with them. The ships where they are interned are costing us L86,000 a month. Our own men imprisoned in Germany are starved, and beaten, and spat upon. They sleep on mouldy straw, have no sanitation, and in winter weather their coats, and sometimes even their tunics, were taken from them. Fortunately, reprisals need not come from us. Talk to Zouaves and Turcos and the French. God help Germany if they ever penetrate to the Rhine. A young man--Mr. Shoppe--is occupied in flying low over the gun that is bombarding Dunkirk in order to take a photograph of it.