you can stand on the corner of Rue de Main and spit into the country.
It looks like the ornament on a birthday cake or a picture post office
card.

We have been hear about 1 week, and would have written sooner but for
the second time in the life of yours truly, I am recovering from "Mal
dee Mear" (the name is bad enuff, but the disease is worse) Third
Class passengers call it sea-sickness, but if you have a first class
cabin, you are supposed to call it mal dee mear.

They say its only about 30 miles from Dover to Callay; maybe it is on
a calm day, but believe you me derie, we went up the hills of water to
the tune of about a hundred miles. It was all-rite goin up, but Julie
goin down is when everything "comes up." That's if you have anything
left to come up.

[Illustration: "I don't know what to call you," sez he, "Call me an
ambulance," says I.--]

The game we played comin over would have been a good trainin fer a
prize fiter. We tumbled round so we looked like we was shadow boxin.
"Snappy brand of weather" pipes one of these sailor guys. He was rite,
I never remember givin a better imitation of a whip snapper; and the
wind, Julie dere, the wind which spends its time round the Flatiron
and Woolworth Buildings, are as the poets say "gentle zephers" to that
which sweeps across the English channel when a man sized storm is on;
it listens like a cross between the moan of a dyin giastacutus and a
subway express behind time under the East River.

I never before was so glad to set my foot on dri land. I was so