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Blind forces in themselves; shaping thoughts as they shaped features and battled for the moulding of constitution and the mingling of temperament. Philosophy and poetry came to me before I knew their names. Je fis mes premiers vers, sans savoir les ecrire. Not verses so much as the stuff that verses are made of.

The game was stopped by another hand than mine-a hand emerging from a paletot-sleeve and stretched over my shoulder; it caught the extemporised plaything and bore it away with these sullen words: "Je vois bien que vous vous moquez de moi et de mes effets." Really that little man was dreadful: a mere sprite of caprice and, ubiquity: one never knew either his whim or his whereabout.

I can see his straining efforts now, his eyes like the eyes of a spirit; I can hear his daily words: "Il me semble que j'ai un peu plus de force dans mes jambes ce matin, Monsieur!" though, I fear, he never had. Men of such indomitable initiative, though not rare, are but a fraction. The great majority have rather the happy-go-lucky soul.

Here Monsieur Moineau, a French emigre, and our Gallic tutor, cried out lustily, "You shall force that door, never jamais, jamais my pretty garcons, mes chers pupils, be good, be quiet go you couch yourselves les feux d'artifice! bah! they worth noding at all you go to bed.

She shook hands with me, across the prostrate form of the rheumatic Frenchman, who smiled, and murmured, "Bien, bien, mes anges," and she assured me that I might expect her on the morrow.

She could not even press Tilly to pack her box and come at once; for her second letter that morning had been from Sara, who wrote that, having decided to shake the dust of the colony off her feet, she wished to pay them a flying visit before sailing, "POUR FAIRE MES ADIEUX." She signed herself "Your affectionate sister Zara," and on her arrival explained that, tired of continually instructing people in the pronunciation of her name, she had decided to alter the spelling and be done with it.

Henri groaned. "Oh! mes boy, I am speechless! I am ready for bust! Oui hah! I veesh it vas to-morrow." Many a time that night did Henri "veesh it vas to-morrow," as he lay helpless on his back, looking up through the roof of the chief's tent at the stars, and listening enviously to the plethoric snoring of Joe Blunt.

Inutile de decrire la surprise de mes parents a la reception de cette lettre, qui fut bientot suivie par le retour de Catherine. Elle completa le recit du pasteur en disant qu'un matin en sortant de ce village, elle alla trouver un petit bois, quand elle vit au bord du chemin un homme etendu mort, mais qui venait seulement de cesser de vivre.

Their side-arms jingled against the teeth of the wind, which tried to snatch at their bayonets and to drag the rifles out of their grip. They never raised their heads to glance at the Red Cross carts coming back. Some of the French officers, tramping by the side of their men, shouted through the swish of the gale: "Courage, mes petits!" "II fait mauvais temps pour les sales Boches!"

I am a proud man, and you have dragged me through the slough of humiliation, but to-day, as I bid you good-bye, I realize how one felt, who looking at the bust of him she loved supremely, said with her last breath: 'Voila mon univers, mon espoir, et mes dieux! How soon we meet again depends solely on your future course. You know the conditions; and I promise you I will not swerve one iota."