The whole city is in confusion, ninety thousand soldiers are here now,
and eighty thousand more are expected this week. Every house-holder
must take as many as he can accommodate, and the strain on the people
is heavy. We heard yesterday of the terrible disaster to the troops
that left here on the 13th, three transports were sunk by the
Russians. Five hundred of the wounded from South Hill battle have been
brought here, and whenever I go out, I see long lines of stretchers
and covered ambulances bringing in more men. It is intolerable to be
near so much suffering and not to be able to relieve it. We are all so
worked up with pity and indignation, and sympathy that we hardly dare
talk about the war.

Summer vacation will soon be here and I am planning a wild career of
self indulgence. I am going to Karuizawa, where I can get cooled off
and rested and invite my soul to my heart's content.

For two mortal weeks the rain has poured in torrents. The rainy season
out here isn't any of your nice polite little shower-a-day affairs, it
is just one interminable downpour, until the old earth is spanked into
submission. I can't even remember how sunshine looks, and my spirits
are mildewed and my courage is mouldy.

To add to the discomfort, we are besieged by mosquitoes. They are the
big ferocious kind that carry off a finger at a time. I heard of one
missionary down in the country, who was so bothered one night that he
hung his trousers to the ceiling, and put his head in one leg, and
made his wife put her head in the other, while the rest of the garment
served as a breathing tube!