You can conceive the sense of exaltation with which one would enter the South of France in June, after five months in Egypt. You can conceive better than describe it. So can the writer. In a moment it comes back from this distance, with a reality that elates; but it defies description. The universal sand of Egypt: the timbered heights and the flowered valleys of the Riviera; the stinks of the Egyptian cities: the June fragrance breathing down from the hills of Marseilles; the filth and deformity of the Cairene denizens: the fair women of France and the lovely grace of the little children; the searing heat of the desert: the tempered sunniness of this blossoming land. If you can make these things explicit to yourself, you may know something of the high sense of emancipation with which we left the ship. For we had been looking on Marseilles and sniffing the air from the harbour for two days. And in the last hundred miles of the journey by sea we had skirted the Riviera coast, gazing absorbedly on verdure and perching _château_, and nestling, red-topped village and silver sand-strip. Then the cliffs of the harbour mouth--that hide the city--uprose, and we threaded a way beneath them and about the titanic rocks towering in the bay; and a sudden turn to starboard threw all Marseilles into the field of vision in five minutes--red tiles along the water's edge in great congested blotches; thin red patches straggling back in the green up the hills; and in the near, high-reared horizon, grey scarred cliffs overlooking all; and on the main harbour headland Notre Dame de la Garde, dazzling gold in the setting sun, gazing benignly over the city. We looked and pondered till darkness came on, and in the morning were on deck early to see it all by the eastern sun. But they wouldn't let us land. So we spent two days explicating the detail with glasses. We moved in suddenly and entrained at once. By the goodness of Heaven we were detailed to proceed by a slow passenger-train, as distinct from a fast troop-train. A troop-train rushes express, and is crowded; ours stopped at every station, and gave room to sleep. At the big towns we stayed as long as four and six hours. For all this we were commiserated by the French: "_Ah! trois jours dans la voiture!_" But we could have wished it would last three weeks. Think, patient reader! Three days across France from Marseilles to Rouen in the gentle French midsummer; and time to look about you at every village. Four impressions will always remain: the desecration by war of this beautiful land; the inescapable evidence that the last fit man in France is in the field; the ravages upon these quiet civilian homes by death in the front line; the incontinently affectionate welcome of Australians by the French girls.