Natural laws are demonstrating themselves very plainly these days, for when we were sitting on the terrace just before lunch to-day, a curious thing happened—a sound wave, from a cannon shot literally hit our ear drums. I felt as if somebody had struck mine with a padded club. There was no noise, you understand, but we all looked up, aware of the impact at the same moment, so that it could not have been imagination. It must be that the terrible experiences of the past weeks have developed us to a highly sensitized degree, for many things are strikingly clear which were not so before.

Nearly every afternoon we go up over the hill to a high cliff overhanging the river which makes a sounding board for those sounds, which never abate, of a distant battle across the valley.

Heaven above! how are there men enough left after all these weeks of killing to continue a battle? At times the reports come as thick and fast as hail, making one long roar of awfulness, and our hearts sink like lead at the vision it conjures up.

And again, how readily and eagerly hope springs up when the shots become interrupted and the noise fades away a little.

In this wooded spot where we so often go to find out the real truth of things with our own ears, one meets nearly all one's friends from the neighboring villas who have come for the same purpose, morbidly attracted as we all, no doubt, are by these dreadful signs of a world of torture.

We huddle together like sheep lost in the storm, we confide our personal misfortunes and we recount the barbarous tales we have recently heard, the story ever interrupted by fresh evidence of the reviving fury of the never-ending struggle.

When we arrived home we heard that a company of soldiers had arrested, as espions, four or five men who, like ourselves, were taking a little promenade in the wood across the valley. Our liberties are being curtailed more and more. Thank goodness there is a large garden and a private wood to wander in. A month ago the order was that every inhabitant must be in the house and lights out at eight P. M. Now it is seven o'clock and as the days grow shorter it will soon be six or five—and perhaps three. The soldiers are in such a blue fear of being shot that recently in Aerschot all the villagers were put into the church on bread and water. Some of the men were shot before their wives and most of the houses burned. And they say, "the heart of the Imperial Empire bleeds." It is not surprising that it does when one considers what is happening right here at LiÉge, where houses are burned and innocent men shot for murder. Afterward one finds German bullets in German soldiers, which proves what you will.

What a story we heard to-day—such a pitiful little story of somebody's blue-eyed boy who ran out with his toy gun and aimed it at the passing troops.

They shot him dead, the little fellow, but he will sleep in a hero's grave as truly as another, for his loyal wee might.