lighted, and people fall over things, and nearly everything is mislaid,
and the wounded cry out, and one steps over forms on the floor. From
then till one goes to bed it is difficult to be just what one ought to
be, the tragedy of it is too pitiful. There is a boy with his eyes shot
out, and there is a row of men all with head wounds from the cruel
shrapnel overhead. Blood-stained mattresses and pillows are carried out
into the courtyard. Two ladies help to move the corpses. There is always
a pile of bandages and rags being burnt, and a youth stirs the horrible
pile with a stick. A queer smell permeates everything, and the guns
never cease. The wounded are coming in at the rate of a hundred a day.

The Queen of the Belgians called to see the hospital to-day. Poor little
Queen, coming to see the remnants of an army and the remnants of a
kingdom! She was kind to each wounded man, and we were glad of her
visit, if for no other reason than that some sort of cleaning and
tidying was done in her honour. To-night Mr. Nevinson arrived, and we
went round the wards together after supper. The beds were all full--so
was the floor. I was glad that so many of the wounded were dying.

The doctors said, "These men are not wounded, they are mashed."

I am rather surprised to find how little the quite young girls seem to
mind the sight of wounds and suffering. They are bright and witty about
amputations, and do not shudder at anything. I am feeling rather
out-of-date amongst them.

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