October 25, 1914.
Another Sunday—but this is cold and rainy—the days slip by so quickly I cannot keep track of them. We have only two soldiers left at the hospital—they tell us every day that others are coming. The country all about is perfectly beautiful with the autumn coloring. We do not see any of the horrors of the war here. If it were not for the tales that come to us from outside, and for the poor broken men who come back, we would not know it was going on. There are very enthusiastic accounts of the Canadians in all the English papers.