started the New Year for me
splendidly. I expect I will be back around the first of February. I
am now trying to "get back," but, I need more time. I can only put the
trip down to the wrong side of the ledger. Personally, I got a lot out
of it, but I am not sent over here to improve my knowledge of Europe,
but to furnish news and stories and that has not happened.

I am constantly running against folks who knew you in Florence, and I
regret to say most of them are in business at the Chatham bar. What a
story they make; the M----'s and the like, who know Paris only from the
cocktail side. One of our attaches told me to-day he had been lunching
for the last 18 months at the grill room of the Chatham, where the
"mixed grill" was as good as in New York. He had no knowledge of any
other place to eat. The Hotel de l'Empire is a terrible tragedy. They
are so poor, that I believe it is my eight francs a day keeps them
going; nothing else is in sight. But, it is the exception. Never did
a people take a war as the French take this worst of all wars. They
really are the most splendid of people. I only wish I could have had
one of them for a grandfather or grandmother. Bessie writes that Hope
is growing wonderfully and beautifully, and I am sick for a sight of
her, and for you. Good night and God bless you and the happiest of New
Years to you both.

Your loving brother,

DICK.

These postcards are "originals" painted by students of the Beaux-Arts
to keep alive, and to keep those students in the trenches. They are
for Dai.

PARIS, December 31, 1915.

DEAREST ONE:

The old year, the dear, old year that brought us Hope, is very near the
end. I am not going to watch him go. I have drunk to the New Year and
to my wife and daughter, and before there is "a new step on the floor,
and a new face at the door," I will be asleep. Of all my many years,
the old year, that is so soon to pass away, has been the best, for it
has brought you to me with a closer tie, has added to the love I have
for every breath you breathe, for your laugh and your smile, and deep
concern, that comes if you think your worthless husband is worried, or
cross, or dismayed. Each year I love you more; for I know you more,
and to know more of the lovely soul you are, is to love more. Just now
we are in a hard place. I am sure you cannot comprehend how her
father, her "Dad" and your husband can keep away. Neither do I
understand.

But