y in which thousands
of them have been cruelly ill-treated, tormented even, in Germany--worst
of all, perhaps, by German women.

The extracts are taken from letters written mostly in December and
January last:

(_a_) " ... Dear wife, don't fret about me, because the English treat us
very well. Only our own officers (N.C.O.'s) treat us even worse than
they do at home in barracks; but that we're accustomed to...."

(_b_) " ... I'm now a prisoner in English hands, and I'm quite comfortable
and content with my lot, for most of my comrades are dead. The English
treat us well, and everything that is said to the contrary is not true.
Our food is good. There are no meatless days, but we haven't any
cigars...."

(_c_) Written from hospital, near Manchester: " ... I've been a prisoner
since October, 1916. I'm extremely comfortable here.... Considering the
times, I really couldn't wish you all anything better than to be
here too!"

(_d_) " ... I am afraid I'm not in a position to send you very detailed
letters about my life at present, but I can tell you that I am quite all
right and comfortable, and that I wish every English prisoner were the
same. Our new Commandant is very humane--strict, but just. You can tell
everybody who thinks differently that I shall always be glad to prove
that he is wrong...."

(_e_) " ... I suppose you are all thinking that we are having a very bad
time here as prisoners. It's true we have to do without a good many
things, but that after all one must get accustomed to. The English are
really good people, which I never would have believed before I was taken
prisoner. They try all they can to make our lot easier for us, and you
know there are a great many of us now. So don't be distressed
for us...."

X is passed, a large and prosperous town, with mills in a hollow. We
climb the hill beyond it, and are off on a long and gradual descent to
Amiens. This Picard country presents everywhere the same general
features of rolling downland, thriving villages, old churches,
comfortable country houses, straight roads, and well-kept woods. The
battlefields of the Somme were once a continuation of it! But on this
March day the uplands are wind-swept and desolate; and chilly white
mists curl about them, with occasional bursts of pale sun.

Out of the mist there emerges suddenly an anti-aircraft section; then a
great Army Service dump; and presently we catch sight of a row of
hangars and the following notice