untryside of villages littered with orchestrions and absinthe-
bottles, groundwork of an interrupted musical and bacchic fete
whose details must be imagined, like many other revolting and
scabrous details, which no compositor would consent to set up in
type, but which, nevertheless, are known and form a striking part of
the unwritten history of the attack on civilisation. You may have read
hints of these things again and again, but no amount of previous
preparation will soften for you the shock of getting them first-hand
from eyewitnesses whose absolute reliability it would be fatuous to
question.

What these men with their vivid gestures, bright eyes, and perfect
phrasing most delight in is personal heroism. And be it remembered
that, though they do tell a funny story about German scouts who, in
order to do their work, painted themselves the green of trees--and
then, to complete the illusion, when they saw a Frenchman began to
tremble like leaves--they give full value to the courage of the
invaders. But, of course, it is the courage of Frenchmen that
inspires their narrations. I was ever so faintly surprised by their
candid and enthusiastic appreciation of the heroism of the auxiliary
services. They were lyrical about engine-drivers, telephone-
repairers, stretcher-bearers, and so on. The story which had the
most success concerned a soldier (a schoolmaster) who in an
engagement got left between the opposing lines, a quite
defenceless mark for German rifles. When a bullet hit him, he cried,
"Vive la France!" When he was missed he kept silent. He was hit
again and again, and at each wound he cried, "Vive la France!" He
could not be killed. At last they turned a machine-gun on him and
raked him from head to foot. "Vive la------"

It was a long, windy, dusty drive to Arras. The straight, worn roads of
flinty chalk passed for many miles ARRAS through country where
there was no unmilitary activity save that of the crops pushing
themselves up. Everything was dedicated to the war. Only at one
dirty little industrial town did we see a large crowd of men waiting
after lunch to go into a factory. These male civilians had a very odd
appearance; it was as though they had been left out of the war by
accident, or by some surprising benevolence. One thought first,
"There must be some mistake here." But there was probably no
mistake. These men were doubtless in the immense machine.

After we had traversed a more attractive agri