The Boche prisoners round about here work energetically. They must, I fancy, be amazed themselves at the manner in which they are treated--the abundance of food, the entire absence of rancour on our part, and the general conditions under which they work and live. Actually, they get their Sunday afternoons off. Some of them have been given a little plot of land close to the internment camp, where they are busy gardening in their leisure time. In the camp they have all sorts of work-tables and tools, and you often see some of them doing carpentering after their day's work is done. The prisoners stroll about the camp and its environs at will, and the men on guard are continually chatting and joking with them. The ration of the prisoners includes fresh meat and bread every day, and a supply of tobacco and cigarettes once a week. It is much to the credit of Britain that her captives in war should be treated with so much generosity. Don't let the Government abandon this policy of broad magnanimity because of the noisy clamour of armchair reprisalists at home. By the way, these Boche prisoners observe the rules of discipline even in their captivity, and when British or French officers pass by they stand respectfully to attention. Most of the prisoners are big chaps. If you have not read it, let me recommend to you a book by John Buchan called "The Thirty-nine Steps." To my mind it is the cleverest detective story I have read since the exploits of Sherlock Holmes. It is in a way a sort of enlarged version of an earlier story by Buchan that appeared in _Blackwood's Magazine_ called the "Power House." As in the "Power House," the chief villain is merely hinted at; he is only fully revealed in the last page. Throughout the rest of the story he is one of those genial, cheery old men who are always puffing cigars and drinking whisky. The incidents take place in England and are connected with a series of events that precipitated the present war. I enjoyed the book and admired the ingenuity with which the plot is worked out. The writing is vigorous and there is no sloppy sentimentality. _September 6th, 1916._