before him. Godly men who have fallen asleep with full trust of seeing a loved and loving Saviour soon for ever and ever, in the land of Canaan; and scowling faces with blood and froth upon the writhing lips, and hands convulsively grasping the sand as they breathe away their life. And then to realise the stern old Patrician mothers who preside so calmly at the dinner table, albeit their only son lies dead while fighting his country's battles. To think of the desolate wife who watches each coming train, and sick at heart returns to learn from some comrade that Jules is dead. To think of the Provençal maiden, who never more shall spin at the Buscou, but who soon shall lie beneath the grass-grown mound, for Laurent is no more.

Oh, do not all these heart-broken widows, desolated children, bereft maidens, preach a sermon far more powerful than voice of man could utter against the mad iniquity of war!

CHAPTER XXIX.

MM. BOUILLY ET BASQUIN.

EVERY room occupied in the hotel; a German soldier, an officer's servant, standing, without any arms, on the landing. I remarked that my movements seemed to be a matter of anxiety unto him. If I opened my door and looked out, he was sure to come within view and see who it might be. If I descended the stairs, he gave a penetrating glance after me.

At breakfast the saloon was crowded again by the French officers; and a group of German officers of rank were clustered round the outside door, eagerly discussing the tidings of the war.

When I went in to pay my reckoning, a young French chasseur officer was settling the amount due by the prisoners. They were en route, and many a sad face met my view inside that large saloon. Ah, me what sorrowful hearts are breaking in France waiting for some of these brave fellows seated at yonder tables! What anxious wives, what weeping children, what yearning expectation of disap

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pointed hope! Poor fellows, they keep up a desultory conversation, which soon flags.

I leap into a carriage and drive for the stationjust in time. Two French officers are in the same compartment, and off we roll from Mayence. The officers are going to be interned at Bonn, which they have selected, and which, I think, they have chosen because of its name, which they call as though it were Bone. They are veteran soldiers, one a lieutenant, the other a sous-lieutenant of the 78th of the line. After a little I ascertain that one is called Bouilly, the other Basquin; that one is evidently suffering from a severe scalp wound, the other seems unhurt. I present Monsieur Basquin with the Gaulois, which he reads with delight. There are some Germans in the carriage who are evidently cordially disposed to the officers, and speak a few broken words of French in the usual way, using b for p, f for v; Naboleon instead of Napoleon, fous for vous. At every station that we halt at, the usual crowd of spectators line the platform; but they are very well conducted. I may say, with perfect truth, that I have never seen the slightest rudeness shown to French prisoners in Germany, and I have travelled over and over again with hundreds of them, save on this very journey. When passing by a waggon crowded with Landwehr, they waved their caps and half pushed them into the French officers' faces. The Germans looked sadly distressed at this indecorum; but the lieutenants laughed and said, pleasantly, "Oh, that is nothing at all." At one

station further on, a crowd of Landwehr soldiers were standing on the platform as we ran alongside, and, mingled with them, a number of peasants and citizens. At this very moment a desperately wounded German soldier was borne across the platform by four men. He was evidently entirely paralysed, a fine young soldier too, with an expression of deep pain upon his pale face. He was lifted slowly into the carriage next to ours. We three were alone in the compartment, and the mob surged up to the very door upon which I was leaning, as I looked out, and looked fiercely into our faces, while a deep angry murmur spread from man to man. I felt convinced that had the two French officers shown any evidence of anger or dislike, in one moment the carriage would have been stormed by the angry mob, and we torn to pieces, for our resistance would have soon been overcome by them. But not one trace of emotion, save a heightened colour, did I read on my companions' faces. They looked after the poor German with a look of sympathy, while the multitude fiercely stared, as though saying, "Behold your work." I must even confess that I felt glad when the train rolled on out of the station. But how much of kind cordial sympathy have I witnessed every day shown to these poor wounded Frenchmen. What cigars pressed upon them, what hard boiled eggs presented as nutriment by the way. Fruit, wine, beer, stimulants, all at their service.

The lieutenant on one occasion darted into the buffet and returned with the kellner bearing a

bouteille du vin. Poor fellow, the mystery of German coin seemed inscrutable to him, and while he was asking his comrade if he had any money, I paid the kellner. He then wanted me to accept a much larger coin; I told him it was my privilege to pay, and then fearing that they, poor fellows, had little or no money, I ventured, delicately, to offer the loan of a few sovereigns. The lieutenant's face flushed up a little. "Oh," he said, "thanks, thanks, m'sieur, but look, we are quite rich," and he opened a little purse and showed me a half dozen Napoleons inside. Poor fellows, they smoked, and laughed, and talked as gaily as though Paris and not Bonn was their destination.

We run alongside another train; it is crowded with French soldiers. One of them, a trumpeter, leaps from the carriage, and taking off his kepi and holding it in his hand, cries, "Messieurs les officiers, I am returning to France, an exchanged prisoner; can I do anything for you?" In a moment Bouilly has taken out his card and written a few words upon it in pencil. "Place that in an envelope when you get to France, and send it to Madame ma femme; there's her direction. The trumpeter received it, cried, "Bon voyage," and leaped into his own carriage, which was just moving off, half overturning a ponderous sentinel with a huge needlegun and long bayonet, who was leisurely turning to enter another compartment. "Ah! ma pauvre femme," cried the lieutenant, "how glad she will be to hear from me," and he opened a little ease which