_August 6, 1914._ MY VERY DEAR MOTHER,--These are my first days of life at war, full of change, but the fatigue I actually feel is very different from what I foresaw. I am in a state of great nervous tension because of the want of sleep and exercise. I lead the life of a government clerk. I belong to what is called the depot, I am one of those doing sedentary work, and destined eventually to fill up the gaps in the fighting line. What we miss is news; there are no longer any papers to be had in this town. _August 13._ We are without news, and so it will be for several days, the censorship being of the most rigorous kind. Here life is calm. The weather is magnificent, and all breathes quiet and confidence. We think of those who are fighting in the heat, and this thought makes our own situation seem even too good. The spirit among the reservists is excellent. _Sunday, August 16._ To-day a walk along the Marne. Charming weather after a little rain. A welcome interlude in these troubled times. We are still without news, like you, but we have happily a large stock of patience. I have had some pleasure in the landscape, notwithstanding the invasion of red and blue. These fine men in red and blue have given the best impression of their _moral_. Great levies will be made upon our depots, to be endured with fortitude. _August 16_ (from a note-book). The monotony of military life benumbs me, but I don't complain. After nine years these types are to be rediscovered, a little less marked, improved, levelled down. Just now every one is full of grave thoughts because of the news from the East. The ordinary good-fellowship of the mess has been replaced by a finer solidarity and a praiseworthy attempt at adaptation. One of the advantages of our situation is that we can, as it were, play at being soldiers with the certainty of not wasting our time. All these childish and easy occupations, which are of immediate result and usefulness,