ras and
they added to one of the letters: "Si M. Barras ne se porte pas tres
bien a present c'est bien la faute de vos amis les Anglais." (If M.
Barras is not well at present, it is the fault of your friends the
English.) And from then all the letters referring to M. Barras
were strictly suppressed.

While the German Press may not be above admitting a shortage
of food in Germany, it seriously annoys the Army that the French
prisoners or the French in the invaded regions should hear of it. I
heard one story of the wife of a French officer in Lille, who was
obliged to offer unwilling hospitality to a German Captain, who, in a
somewhat clumsy endeavour to be amiable, offered to try to get
news of her husband and to convey it to her. Appreciating the
seeming friendliness, of the Captain, she confided to him that she
had means of communicating with her husband who was on the
French Front. The Captain informed against her and the next day
she was sent for by the Kommandantur, who imposed a fine of fifty
francs upon her for having received a letter from the enemy lines.
Taking a one hundred franc note from her bag she placed it on the
desk, saying, "M. le Kommandantur, here is the fifty francs fine,
and also another fifty francs which I am glad to subscribe for the
starving women and children in Berlin." "No one starves in Berlin,"
replied the Kommandantur. "Oh, yes, they do," replied Madame X.,
"I know because the Captain who so kindly informed you that I had
received a letter from my husband showed me a letter the other
day from his wife in which she spoke of the sad condition of the
women and children of Germany, who, whilst not starving, were far
from happy." Thus she not only had the pleasure of seriously
annoying the Kommandantur, but also had a chance to get even
with the Captain who had informed against her, and who is no
longer in soft quarters in Lille, but paying the penalty of his
indiscretion by a sojourn on the Yser.

The Bridge At Meaux

The Bridge at Meaux, destroyed in the course of the German
retreat, has not yet been entirely repaired. Beneath it rushes the
Marne and the river sings in triumph, as it passes, that it is carrying
away the soil that has been desecrated by the steps of the
invader, and that day by day it is washing clean the land of France.

In the fields where the corn is standing, the tiny crosses marking
the last resting places of the men are entirely hidden, but where
the gr