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My cases are of course given, so that economy of observation after the fact, as I have called it, becomes inspiring, not less than the amusement, or whatever it may be, of the question of what might happen, of what in point of fact did happen, to several very towny and domesticated little persons, who were confirmed in their towniness and fairly enriched in their sensibility, instead of being chucked into a scramble or exposed on breezy uplands under the she-wolf of competition and discipline.
Those words express all the terror of war for me Georgie's death, Alexander's wound, the mother's grief; all, all that the War has brought: they express it with such force that my temples ache with an almost physical sense of anguish, "Towny, bayonet me!" How simple, how superhuman! I remember those words every day, especially when in the hall waiting for the post.
We feel from his writings that he is nearer to Nature than other men, and yet more truly civilized. The competitive, towny culture, the queer up-to-date commercial knowingness with which we are so busy coating ourselves simply will not stick to him.
They enjoyed a fine, full flesh meal in the middle of the day, and then threw themselves down on their cots and sweated and slept till it was cool enough to go out with their "towny," whose vocabulary contained less than six hundred words, and the Adjective, and whose views on every conceivable question they had heard many times before.
Our success has made us ambitious, and we think of getting up another piece a burlesque, entitled 'Sir Dagobert and the Dragon, from one of my Beeton's 'Annuals. There is not much in it; but, faute de mieux, it may do very well. But to revert to less "towny" and much more interesting matters passing on board.
Jo, Mizzorri, to Gold Hill whar I've got a claim and I reckon this is the first time I ever struck San Francisker. I ain't up to towny ways nohow, and I allow that mebbe I'm rather green. So we'll let that pass!
Yesterday a soldier who had lost his hand when scouting, came running in to us crying wildly: "Bayonet me, Towny, Bayonet me!" Sometimes we come out at night to enjoy the fireworks. They fire on us hoping to unnerve us, and their bullets strike zip-zip-zip into our earthworks. We stand and look on as though spell-bound.
They enjoyed a fine, full flesh meal in the middle of the day, and then threw themselves down on their cots and sweated and slept till it was cool enough to go out with their "towny," whose vocabulary contained less than six hundred words, and the Adjective, and whose views on every conceivable question they had heard many times before.
'Towny, bayonet me! But you cannot understand.... Do not laugh!" He told me this, now whispering, now shrieking. He told me that I could not understand; but I can . . . "Towny, bayonet me!"
"Damned if I wouldn't chawnce me arm and go fer 'im meself before we leave on'y I'm expectin' furver permotion afore long. But fer that I'd take it up meself" and he glanced at Dam. "Ketch the little swine at it," remarked Trooper Herbert Hawker, as loudly as he dared, to his "towny," Trooper Henry Bone.
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