During a sojourn of many months in the hospital Samedou invariably met the sufferings he was called upon to endure with an uncomplaining fortitude, which might have seemed due to insensibility had not the staff had ample proof that his silence was the silence of a fine courage. On one occasion a set of photographs of the hospital was in preparation, and when the _salle de pansements_ had to be taken the photographer decided that the best lay figure for his _mise-en-scene_ would be a black man, as a striking contrast to the white raiment of the staff. So Samedou was carried in on a stretcher and laid upon the table. Unfortunately the surgeons and nurses were so occupied with the business of placing things in the best light that no one realised that the poor Senegalese did not understand the purpose of the preparations, and when the English nurse was called to take up her position she noticed the hands of Samedou Kieta clutching the sides of the table and his black eyes rolling in a sea of white. She at once ran to the nearest ward. "Quelqu'un voudrait bien me preter une photographie?" she asked, and a dozen eager hands offered her the treasured groups of _la famille_. Taking one at random she returned to Samedou and held it before his eyes. "Nous aussi," she said, "toi, moi, le Major, l'infirmier." Samedou looked, and a heavenly relief chased the tension from his face. "Y a bon," he said happily. "Toi, bon camarade!" When his wounds began to be less painful the problem was how to keep the Sidi in bed. No one cared to be very severe with him, so the staff resorted to the usual weak method of confiscating all his clothes save a shirt, and hoping for the best. But one day the English nurse, going unexpectedly into a distant ward, came upon Samedou Kieta, simply dressed in a single shirt and a bandage, visiting the freshly-arrived wounded and scattering wide grins around him. At her horrified exclamation he began to shrivel away towards the door, ushering himself out with the propitiatory words, "Good morning. Good night. T'ank you. Water!" A most effectual method of disarming reproof. Poor Samedou has since passed on to another hospital for electric treatment, but the staff still treasures his first and only letter:-- "Moi, Samedou Kieta, arrive a l'autre hopital. Y a bon. Mais moi, Samedou Kieta, toi pas oublie. Merci, Monsieur le Major deux galons. Merci, Soeur Antoinette. Merci, Madame l'Anglaise. Y a bon. Y a bon. Y a bon." * * * * * "The Germans have suffered 100,000 casualties in 10 days on the western front, and their losses will increase rapidly. They must shorten their lives wherever possible in order to save men."--_Ceylon Morning Leader._ In this laudable endeavour they may count upon receiving the hearty assistance of the Allies. * * * * *