all its misery and all its beauty.  What joy it was for us of the cavalry to pass over the trenches and fly across the plains in the pursuit of the Germans!  The first few days everything went off wonderfully.  The Boches fled before us, not daring to turn and face us.  But our advance was so rapid, our impetuosity such, that, long before they expected us, we overtook the main body of the enemy.  They were visibly amazed at being caught before they could cross the canal at St. Quentin, as was their plan, and they were obliged to turn and attempt to check our advance, in order to gain sufficient time to permit their artillery to cross the canal and escape complete disaster.

It was there that we fought, forcing them across the canal to entrench themselves hastily in unprepared positions, from which, at the hour I write, our wonderful infantry and our heavy artillery, in collaboration with the British, are dislodging them.

Alas!  The battles were costly, and many of our comrades paid with their lives for our audacious advance.  Be sure that we avenged them, and cruel as are our losses they were not in vain.  They are more than compensated by the results of the sacrifice—­the strip of our native soil snatched from the enemy.  They died like heroes, and for a noble cause.

Since then we have been resting, but waiting impatiently to advance and pursue them again, until we can finally push them over their own frontier.

Today’s paper brings us great and comforting news.  At last, dear madame!  At last your marvellous country is going to march beside us in this terrible war.  With a full heart I present to you my heartiest congratulations.  At last Wilson understands, and the American people—­so noble, and always so generous—­will no longer hesitate to support us with all their resources.  How wonderfully this is going to aid us to obtain the decisive victory we must have, and perhaps to shorten the war.

Here, in the army, the joy is tremendous at the idea that we have behind us the support of a nation so great, and all our admiration, all our gratitude goes out to your compatriots, to the citizens of the great Republic, which is going to enter voluntarily into this Holy War, and so bravely expose itself to its known horrors.

Bravo! et vivent les Etats-Unis!

My greetings to Amelie and Papa:  a caress for Khaki and Didine, and a pat for Dick.

Receive, madame, the assurance of my most respectful homage.

I am feeling today as if it were no matter that the winter had been so hard; that we have no fuel but twigs; that the winter wheat was frozen; that we have eaten part of our seed potatoes and that another part of them was frost-bitten; that butter is a dollar a pound (and none to be had, even at that price, for days at a time); that wood alcohol is sixty-five cents a litre, and so on and so forth.  I even feel that it is not important that this war came,