day they sent us a
hundred and fifteen, to wound one man in the wrist!

A house in which a section of our company is living is in flames. We
have not seen a soul stirring. We can only hope that it is well with
them.

I am deeply happy to have lived through these few months. They have
taught me what one can make of one's life, in any circumstances.

My fellow-soldiers are splendid examples of the French spirit. . . .
They swagger, but their swagger is only the outer form of a deep and
magnificent courage.

My great fault as an artist is that I am always wanting to clothe the
soul of the race in some beautiful garment painted in my own colours.
And when people irritate me it is that they are soiling these beautiful
robes; but, as a matter of fact, they would find them a bad encumbrance
in the way of their plain duty.

_Christmas Morning._

What a unique night!--night without parallel, in which beauty has
triumphed, in which mankind, notwithstanding their delirium of
slaughter, have proved the reality of their conscience.

During the intermittent bombardments a song has never ceased to rise
from the whole line.

Opposite to us a most beautiful tenor was declaiming the enemy's
Christmas. Much farther off, beyond the ridges, where our lines begin
again, the _Marseillaise_ replied. The marvellous night lavished on us
her stars and meteors. Hymns, hymns, from end to end.

It was the eternal longing for harmony, the indomitable claim for order
and beauty and concord.

As for me, I cherished old memories in meditating on the sweetness of
the Childhood of Christ. The freshness, the dewy youthfulness of this
French music, were very moving to me. I remembered the celebrated
_Sommeil des Pelerins_ and the shepherds' chorus. A phrase which is sung
by the Virgin thrilled me: '_Le Seigneur, pour mon fils, a beni cet
asile_.' The melody rang in my ears while I was in that little house,
with its neighbour in flames, and itself given over to a precarious
fate.

I thought of all happinesses bestowed; I thought that you were perhaps
at this moment calling down a blessing upon my abode. The sky was so
lovely that it seemed to smile favourably upon all petition; but what I
want strength to ask for perpetually is consistent wisdom--wisdom which,
human though it may be, is none the less safe from anything that may
assail it.

The sun is flooding the country and yet I write by candle-light; now and
then I go out into the back