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CONINGSBY DAWSON, LIEUTENANT C.F.A.

Author of “Khaki Courage,” etc.

OME months ago a young American poet, wounded between the French and German lines, blew his brains out to avoid being captured. “I have a rendezvous with death,” he exclaimed dramatically. “I shall not fail that rendezvous.”

Very un-English! Yes, as a nation we suspect eloquence; it leaves too much room for over-statement. We never see ourselves as silhouetted against the sky-line of eternity—our dislike for self-advertisement prevents that. We rarely invent fine phrases to accompany fine actions; we distrust the sincerity of words. Instead, we camouflage our deepest emotions with humour and slang. We are so disdainful of hysterics that we mask our exaltations with indifference. In our dread of striking attitudes our very indifference becomes a pose. Hence in our moments of supreme crisis, when self-justice demands