refused him admission until the old gentleman got his poor scattered

brains together enough to prove his identity. This is the story as we

have it first-hand. Can it then be possible that the others we heard are

true, too?

_October 10th, Saturday._

I have been advertised! like a stray dog, and what a feeling of

importance it gives one. A peculiar looking document with the Embassy

seals of Paris and Brussels on it, arrived from the American Consul in

Liege enquiring if such a person as "Me" still exists.

Well, rather, I should say. Fancy one's coming all the way on foot from

Brussels to find out that!

Masses of soldiers and cannon passing today and news from Brussels is

bad. The worst must have happened! "Antwerp, the untakable." How is it

possible in a few days, with fifty-two forts in triple line? We were so

depressed we could scarcely eat dinner, when about nine P. M.

came the news, from a man of affairs who is just back from Brussels,

that the rumor is false. We shall sleep tonight after this hope and the

end of the world is not today, anyway.

_October 11th, Sunday._

We have heard the raging of a distant battle for days and we tremble for

the result. It seems that Antwerp is really taken, that is, "they say"

so, but it is such a mystery to everybody.

A Dutch army nurse--but in the German Red Cross service--is here for a

few days' furlough, and related to Madame X. some horrible details of

the battlefield in France, whence she has recently come. It is just one

scene of mud and blood--pieces of limbs strewn everywhere and the dead

standing straight against masses of bodies, both living and dead. In

some towns she saw women and children pinioned with a sword through the

breast to the walls of their houses, and in Belgium the women and

children were often obliged to hold the hands of the men whom the

soldiers shot at random, according to their fancy. Here again are tales

that one hears that I cannot assert as facts, though this woman told

them as her own experiences.

Madame X. received a card from Charles, the young gardener, who is now

safe in France training with the Belgian army near Dunkirque. You are

doubtless wondering how a card arrived here, as we have had no mail

since August 2nd. It was sent to a certain bank in Holland which is not

far from the Belgian frontier and a messenger brought it on foot.

And I have sent you back a letter, dear people, scribbled at top speed

(without capitals, t's crossed nor i's dotted, probably) by the same

messenger who takes his life in his hands when he passes the guard at

the Dutch frontier again. If letters are found on this person he will

certainly be shot, so whether you ever receive my communication will be

a matter of history.

_October 13th, Tuesday._

The old concierge of the hunting box at Viel Salm (near Malmedy,

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