Last night I was strangely moved, having an opportunity of seeing a convoy of prisoners and speaking to one of them, a colleague, a classical philologist from Vigeac. Such a frank, intelligent man, with an excellent military training, as indeed were all the company with him! He told me how terrible it had been to endure the firing of our machine-guns (démoralisant, he called it)—and showed me clearly the utter senselessness of war. How we should like to be friends with people so like us in education, habits of life, thought and interest. We soon got into conversation about a book on Rousseau and began a regular argument, like two old philologists. He saw the ribbon in my button-hole and when he heard it was the Iron Cross he said: “Félicitations!” His sparkling interest in the striped ribbon seemed to me so characteristic of a Southern Frenchman and very touching. How alike we are in worth and merit! How untrue all these tales told by our papers of the French being broken and spent! Just as untrue as all that the _Temps_ writes about us. And all he said, this French colleague of mine, betrayed so much independent thought and respect for German mind and character. Why should we, fated to be friends, always be divided? I was deeply troubled, and sat there for a long time lost in thought, but all my brooding brought me no solution. And the end not in sight yet, the end of this war, that for six months has been gorging itself with human life and prosperity and happiness! The same feeling amongst us and amongst them! Always the same picture! We are so much alike, we achieve the same, we suffer the same, just because we happen to be such bitter enemies.—(From the _International Review_.) The following is another extract given by M. Romain Rolland. It is taken from the letter of a German soldier to a Swiss professor: