I have been asked by your son's crew to write to you, as I was his N.C.O. in the Tank. Your son, Lieut. H. P. M. Jones, was shot by a sniper. The bullet passed through the port-hole and entered your son's brain. Death was almost instantaneous. I and Lance-Corporal Millward, his driver, did all we could for your son, but he was beyond human help. His death is deeply felt not only by his own crew, but by the whole section. His crew miss him very much. It was a treat to have him on parade with us, as he was so jolly. We all loved him. Fate was against us to lose your son. He was the best officer in our company, and never will be replaced by one like him. I and the rest of the crew hope that you will accept our deepest sympathy in your sorrow. Paul Jones had touched life at so many points--Dulwich College, the athletic world, the Army, journalism, the House of Commons, and Wales--that the news of his death caused grief in far-extending circles. Of the hundreds of letters of condolence that reached us I propose to reproduce a few here. They are unvarying in their testimony to his idealism, his personal charm and the nobility of his nature. Extracts from his last letter, published in the _Daily Chronicle_, the _Western Mail_, Cardiff, and _Public Opinion_, attracted considerable attention. * * * * * Lieutenant Jack Donaldson, who, as an A.S.C. officer, was attached to the 2nd Cavalry Brigade in the winter of 1916-17, wrote: OFFICERS' MESS, HARROWBY CAMP, GRANTHAM. _August 6th, 1917._ It was with the very deepest sorrow that I read in to-day's paper of the death of your son in action. As you know, he worked under me throughout the greater part of last winter. He was the first subaltern, if I may so express it, I ever had, for he worked under me though he was actually senior in point of rank. He was also the best and most loyal one I could wish for. Far more than that, he was a most interesting and lovable companion and friend. In fact, when he left us the gap created in our mess was one that became more noticeable every day. Intellectually, he was a great loss to us, for his interests were extremely broad and his views original. But far more than that, there was a sort of bigness about him. He was an idealist, and the rarer sort, the sort that carries its theories into practice.