many of my nights in billets these two
months past.

Darling mother, here is a calm in the noise of that barrack-life which
must now be ours. As there are none here but non-commissioned officers,
they are all ordered to hard jobs, and I shall renew my acquaintance
with brooms and burdens. We have been warned; we shall have to work with
our hands. And so we learn to direct others.

_March 7_ (another letter).

Soft weather after rain. Bells in the evening; flowing waters singing
under the bridges; trees settling to sleep.

_March 11._

DARLING MOTHER,--I have nothing to say about my life, which is filled up
with manual labour. At moments perhaps some image appears, some memory
rises. I have just read a fine article by Renan on the origins of the
Bible. I found it in a _Revue des Deux Mondes_ of 1886. If later I can
remember something of it, I may be able to put my very scattered
notions on that matter into better order.

I feel as though I were recovering from typhoid fever. What I chiefly
enjoy is water; the running and the sleeping waters of the Meuse. The
springs play on weeds and pebbles. The ponds lie quiet under great
trees. Streams and waterfalls. On the steep hillsides the snow looks
brilliant and visionary. I live in all these things without forms of
words. And I am rather ashamed to be vegetating, though I think all must
pass through this phase, just removed from the hell of the front. I eat,
and when my horrid rheumatism allows, I sleep.

Don't be angry with my inferiority. I feel as though my armour had been
taken off. Well, I can't help it.

_5 o'clock._

I am a good deal tired by drill. But the fine air of the Meuse keeps me
in health. Dear mother, I wish I might always seek all that is noble and
good. I wish I might always feel within myself the inspiration that
urges towards the true treasures of life. But alas! just now I have a
mind of lead.

_March 14, Sunday morning,
in the Sabbath peace._

DEAREST MOTHER,--Your good, life-giving letters have come at last, after
my long privation, the price I paid for my enjoyment of rest. The pretty
town is waking in the haze of the river, the waters hurry over their
clean stones. All things have that look of moderation and charming
finish that is characteristic of this part of the country.

I read a little, but I am so overtired by the physical exertion to which
we are compelled, that I fall asleep on the instant. We are digging
trenches an