and fascinated every man he met.  He simply told them American facts, explained the American spirit and aims and left a grateful memory everywhere.  Buttrick cost our Government nothing:  he paid his own way.  But if he had cost as much as a regiment it would have been well spent.  The people who heard him, read American utterances, American history, American news in a new light.  And most of his talk was with little groups of men, much of it even in private conversation.  He did no orating or “lecturing.”  A hundred such men, if we had them, would do more for a perfect understanding with the British people than anything else whatsoever could do.

     Yours sincerely,
     WALTER H. PAGE.

     To Arthur W. Page

     Sandwich, May 27, 1918.

     DEAR ARTHUR: 

...  I do get tired—­my Lord! how tired!—­not of the work but of the confinement, of the useless things I have to spend time on, of the bad digestion that has overtaken me, of London, of the weather, of absence from you all—­of the general breaking up of the world, of this mad slaughter of men.  But, after all, this is the common lot now and I am grateful for a chance to do what I can.  That’s the true way to look at it.

...  Worry?  I don’t worry about anything except the war in general and this mad world so threatened by these devil barbarians.  And I have a feeling that, when we get a few thousand flying machines, we’ll put an end to that, alas! with the loss of many of our brave boys.  I hear the guns across the channel as I write—­an unceasing boom! boom! boom!  That’s what takes the stuff out of me and gets my inside machinery wrong.  Still, I’m gradually getting even that back to normal.  Golf and the poets are fine medicine.  I read Keats the other day, with entire forgetfulness of the guns.  Here we have a comfortable house, our own servants (as many as we need), a beautiful calm sea, a perfect air and for the present ideal weather.  There’s nobody down here but Scottish soldiers.  We’ve struck up a pleasant acquaintance with them; and some of the fellows from the Embassy come down week ends.  Only the murderous guns keep their eternal roar.

     Thanks, thanks, a thousand thanks, old man.  It’ll all work out
     right.

...  I look at it in this way:  all’s well that ends well.  We are now doing our duty.  That’s enough.  These things don’t bother me, because doing our duty now is worth a million years of past errors and shortcomings.

     Your mother’s well and spry—­very, and the best company in the
     world.  We’re having a great time.

     Bully for the kids!  Kiss ’em for me and Mollie too.

     Affectionately,
     W.H.P.

Make Shoecraft tell you everything.  He’s one of the best boys and truest in the world.

     To Ralph W. Page

     Rest Harrow, Sandwich, Kent. 
     June 7, 1918.