To you, General, who, from the Paradise of theValiant, can read in my heart the sentiments of respectand affection that guide me, I dedicate these linesin token of the profound admiration of your formerLieutenant.

TRANSVAAL, 1899-1900.

I

'No room, sir!'

This was the phrase that greeted my friendDe C---- and myself at the door of everycarriage we tried.

The fast train for Marseilles leaving Paris at8.25 was, indeed, full to overflowing that nightof December 23; by eight o'clock not a placewas left.

Finally, after treading on a good many toes,and exchanging a good many elbowings, weinstalled ourselves more or less comfortably--agood deal less, to be accurate--one in the frontof the train, the other close to the luggage-van.

A last clasp of the hand to the comrades whohave come to the station with us, and we are off.

The lights of Paris begin to die out in thedistance; conversation languishes; themonotonous rumble of the train lulls the travellersinto drowsiness; heads nod and droop in thedim light of the lamp.

'La Roche! Wait here five minutes!'

We jump out. C---- and I meet again.

'Well, how are

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