ved enough odes and sonnets celebrating the Great Republic and
the Great President to fill a folio volume. Several American
Y.M.C.A. workers lately turned rampant Pacifists and had to be sent
home. Colonial soldiers and now and then an American sailor turn up
at our Y.M.C.A. huts as full as a goat and swear after the event
that they never did such a thing before. Emotions and strain
everywhere!

Affectionately,

W.H.P.

In March Page, a very weary man--as these letters indicate--took a brief
holiday at St. Ives, on the coast of Cornwall. As he gazed out on the
Atlantic, the yearning for home, for the sandhills and the pine trees of
North Carolina, again took possession of his soul. Yet it is evident,
from a miscellaneous group of letters written at this time, that his
mind revelled in a variety of subjects, ranging all the way from British
food and vegetables to the settlement of the war and from secret
diplomacy to literary style.

_To Mrs. Charles G. Loring_
St. Ives, Cornwall, March 3, 1918.

DEAR KITTY:

Your mother of course needed a rest away from London after the
influenza got done with her; and I discovered that I had gone
stale. So she and I and the golf clubs came here yesterday--as near
to the sunlit land of Uncle Sam as you can well get on this island.
We look across the ocean--at least out into it--in your direction,
but I must confess that Labrador is not in sight. The place is all
right, the hotel uncommonly good, but it's Greenlandish in its
temperature--a very cold wind blowing. The golf clubs lean up
against the wall and curse the weather. But we are away from the
hordes of people and will have a little quiet here. It's as quiet
as any far-off place by the sea, and it's clean. London is the
dirtiest town in the world.

By the way that picture of Chud came (by Col. Honey) along with
Alice Page's adorable little photograph. As for the wee chick, I
see how you are already beginning to get a lot of fun with her. And
you'll have more and more as she gets bigger. Give her my love and
see what she'll say. You won't get so lonesome, dear Kitty, with
little Alice; and I can't keep from thinking as well as hoping
that the war will not go on as long as it sometimes seems that it
must. The utter collapse of Russia has given Germany a vast victory