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Updated: May 15, 2025
Weather and rain have undone it again, And now you would never know There was once a road through the woods Before they planted the trees. It is underneath the coppice and heath, And the thin anemones. Only the keeper sees That, where the ringdove broods, And the badgers roll at ease, There was once a road through the woods. "I don't like that at all," cried the soldierman.
As an ordinary soldierman, trained in the elementary virtues of plain-speaking and direct dealing, love of country and the sacredness of duty, I have had no use for the metaphysician. I haven't the remotest notion what his jargon means. Of course, please regard this as a criticism not of the metaphysicians and the philosophers, but of myself.
"The cast-iron soldierman, who condescends to breathe the same air as ordinary mortals down there in the police camp." "O, Major Carew!..." with a quick gleam in his eyes. "I thought him rather a fine fellow. Don't you?" and he smiled at her slyly. "A fine bear," quoth Diana, with a little pout. "I prefer a man with a little more flexibility.
I had. Every one had a high opinion of Mrs. Considine. She was not very beautiful or very clever or very fascinating or very angelic or very anything but she was one of those women of whom everybody has a high opinion. The impoverished widow of an Indian soldierman, with a son soldiering somewhere in India, she managed to do a great deal on very small means.
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