In the middle of the dejeuner the Grand Duke Nicholas got up, and everyone else did the same, and they toasted us!  The Grand Duke made a speech about our “gallantry,” etc., etc., and everyone raised glasses and bowed to one.  Nothing in a play could have been more of a real fine sort of scene.  And certainly S. Macnaughtan in her wildest dreams hadn’t thought of anything so wonderful as being toasted in Russia by the Imperial Staff.

It’s quite a thing to be tiresome about when one grows old!

In the evening we tried to be merry, and failed.  The Grand Duchess sent us mistletoe and plum-pudding by the hand of M. Boulderoff.  He took us shopping, but the bazaars are not interesting.

Good-bye, and bless you, my dear,
Yours as ever,
S. MACNAUGHTAN.

* * * * *

To Miss Julia Keays-Young.

HOTEL D’ORIENT, TIFLIS,
CAUCASUS, RUSSIA,
27 December.

DARLING JENNY,

I can’t tell you what a pleasure your letters are.  I only wish I could get some more from anybody, but not a line gets through!  I want so much to hear about Bet and her marriage, and to know if the nephews and Charles are safe.

There seems to be the usual winter pause over the greater part of the war area, but round about here, there are the most awful massacres; 550,000 Armenians have been slaughtered in cold blood by the Turks, and with cruelties that pass all telling.  One is quite impotent.

I expect to be sent into Persia soon, and meanwhile I hope to join some American missionaries who are helping the refugees.  Our ambulances are at last out of the ice at Archangel, and will be here in a fortnight; but we are not to go to Persia for a month.  “The Front” is always altering, and we never have any idea where our work will be wanted.

[Page Heading:  HOMESICK]

We are still asking when the war will end, but, of course, no one knows.  One gets pretty homesick out here at times, and there was a chance I might have to go back to England for equipment, but that seems off at present.

Your always loving
A. S.

* * * * *

29 December.—­I have still got a horrid bad cough, and my big, dull room is depressing.  We are all depressed, I am afraid.  Being accustomed to have plenty to do, this long wait is maddening.

Whatever Russia may have in store for us in the way of useful work, nothing can exceed the boredom of our first seven weeks here.  We are just spoiling for work.  I believe it is as bad as an illness to feel like this, and we won’t be normal again for some time.  Oddly enough, it does affect one’s health, and Hilda Wynne and I are both seedy.  We are always trying to wire for things, but not a word gets through.

We were summoned to dine at the palace last night.  Everyone very charming.

31 December..—­Prince Murat came to dine and play bridge.  Count Groholski turned up for a few days.  My doctor vetted me for my cold.  Business done—­none.  No sailor ever longed for port as I do for home.