No Man's Land

." So the ticket vendor at Folkestone had informed th

ris during the early days of August '14. A taxi conjures up visions too wonderful to contemplate; but even with the humble horse-bus I feel that I sh

with Monsieur, Madame, and all the little olive-branches sitting solemnly inside the cab. He embraced Madame, he embraced the olive-branches; finally-in despair-I believe he embraced Monsieur. He wept, he entreated, he implored them to take him to the Gare de Lyon. It was imperative. He would continue to kiss them without cess

-branches-God bless them!-decided in his favour; and having piled two suit-cas

ween the two stations in greater comfort, he affirms that never has he done it with a greater sense of elation and triumph. Th

Lyon c'est fermée." Madame's v

six deep around the steps-a gesticulating, excited mob; while at the top, by the iron railings, a cordon of soldiers kept them back

chanically he re-kissed the entire party; he says he even kissed

Prussian swine had stamped their way across the fields of France. Their eyes were bright, their shoulders thrown back as they glanced appraisingly at the next generation-their sons who would wipe

ed to say; "for God's

ory. Wipe it o

would succeed; and it was their presence that m