The kind landladies and other kind hearts exist, thank God, on both sides.[68] To enquire on which side there are most would (even if we could do so without bias) probably be profitless. The important point is that the kind hearts on the other side are there, and that a brotherhood of blessing will help the world more than a brotherhood of revenge—if, indeed, this last could be any brotherhood at all. Miss G. H. writes: “I am particularly anxious to do something for interned Germans. For four months of the war I was in Germany with my mother, sister, nephew and niece, and we were all most kindly treated and helped in every possible way both by friends, by my lawyer, my banker and the neighbouring peasants. Also by all the guards and waiters along our journey on November 21. Friends, peasants, and my lawyer are still looking after my property in Germany, and I have left everything in the hands of a neighbouring peasant, who sends me accounts of it. I would like to be able to do some kind acts here in return, and for the furtherance of better relationships later on.” Yet it can never be pleasant to be in an “enemy” country. Miss H. writes further: “In spite of having such unspeakable sympathy, really understanding sympathy, shown me by not only friends, but the common people—though I hardly like using this term, as no one with so much fellow feeling could really be termed common—in spite of this kindness, I know so well how one can suffer. Over there _we_ are looked upon in the same way that Germans are looked upon here, as quite outside the pale of common morality. Fully realising what this must mean for me, these kindly Germans would go off into a day dream of wonderment as to how _they_ might feel in a similar plight, and one ended up with the reflection, ‘Ja, es ist halt jetzt die Zeit der Märtyrer’ (it is indeed the time of the martyrs once more).” Surely there is something strangely poignant about the convinced and steadfast martyrdom and self-sacrifice of both sides. Surely the peoples who can thus offer themselves in destroying each other must both have noble gifts to give together one day in a nobler cause. The following is from the _Nation_ (Jan. 19, 1918): A clergyman sends me the following. I think it best to publish the story as it stands:— “Some years before the outbreak of war there lived in a certain German town, now frequently raided by air squadrons, an old Englishwoman. She was a semi-invalid; difficult and cantankerous. Subject to illusions, she imagined that the good nuns, who received her as an unremunerative paying guest, were in league against her mangy, but beloved dog. Yet both she and her dog continued to receive the half-humorous tolerance of their benefactors. “Then came the 4th of August, 1914, and Miss X. passed into the mists of war. “A year later she emerged from the mists.