ys,
with my advice to him: "Find out all you can, and above all don't get
caught;" he considers it simply _invaluable_ advice and says all airmen
ought to have it written up in letters of gold somewhere or other.

Stella Clackmannan's had a fortnight's training as a nurse and is off. I
ran in to see the dear thing the night before she left. She'd been
posing to a photographer in her Red Cross uniform for _hours_ and
_hours_ and was almost in a state of _collapse_; but the heroic darling
said she was ready to do even _more than that_ for her country. In one
photo she's sitting by a cot with her hands folded, looking sad but
_very_ sweet. In another she's standing up, singing, "It's a long way to
Tipperary;" and in a third she's bandaging someone (she had one of the
foot-men in for this photo), and, _a mon avis_, it's the least
successful of all. She appears to be _choking_ the poor man! However,
they're immensely charming, and will all be seen in the "Aristocratic
Angels of Mercy" page of next week's _People of Position_.

Dear Professor Dimsdale has only just got back to England from his
eclipse expedition. I'm not sure now whether it was an eclipse or an
occultation, but anyhow the only place where it could be properly seen
was a mountain in the Austrian Tyrol. It was due in the middle of
August, and the last week in July the Professor set off with his big
telescope and his lenses and his assistants and his note-books and
everything that was his. He lived a week or two on the mountain, to get
used to the atmosphere and prepare all his things, so he didn't know
what was going on in the world below. And then, just as the eclipse or
whatever it was _began_, and the Professor was looking up at the sky for
all he was worth, a lot of fearful creatures came rushing up the
mountain and said there was a war and that he was an alien enemy and
that he was making signals and that his big telescope was a new sort of
howitzer; and they pushed him down the mountain, and broke his telescope
and all his lenses, and tore up his note-books, and shook their fists at
him and used such language that he said for the first time in his life
he was sorry he was such a good linguist!

They finished by shutting him up in a fortress, and there he's been ever
since. He hardly knows how it was he got away, but he believes the whole
garrison was marched off to meet the Russians, and that they're all
prisoners now--which is his only drop of comfort.