Wiseacres who try to invent some universal language should certainly base it upon that of Thomas A. in a strange country. He is equally at home in China, Peru, the wilds of Africa or Spain. The fact which astonished him more than anything else about the French language was that all the children spoke it. He could understand grown-ups learning it in time; but how the kiddies were able to talk it with such amazing fluency, that was quite beyond him. As for the French attitude of mind, I am inclined to think that their incredulity, admiration and irritation were all intensified; the last named, however, being even less in evidence than before. The attitude of the French women is easier to define. It is literally true to remark that, from highest to lowest in the land, there were no half measures in their welcome. One can say this now because the fact has long since been recognised and openly discussed in France. This, however, is not the place in which to make more than passing reference to a subject which, apart from the purely human aspect, is more a matter for the student of physiology or psychology. "Combien de coeurs vous avez ravagé dans un si petit délai que vous avez stationné ici," a French girl once remarked, "et cependant on ne devrait pas refuser aux anglais les baisers qu'ils nous demandent puisqu'ils se donnent pour nous." And the last half of the sentence admirably sums up the French woman's point of view. This landing of the portion of the Force at Rouen was typical of what happened at Boulogne or Havre. John Buchan, in his first volume of the "History of the War," has given a most interesting glimpse of incidents at the former port. In no case did the troops remain at these bases for more than a couple of days. Nobody appeared to have the least idea of what was going on up at the frontiers, but time was obviously of importance. No one knew where they were bound for; no one appeared to have the slightest presentiment of the tragedy, and the magnificence of the days which were so soon to crowd upon them. Still the cheery, light-hearted, end-of-term spirit. A summer holiday on the Continong! Cheer-oh! And so they were merry parties of men which boarded the funny French trains; where you had to clamber up the sides of the carriages from platforms which didn't really exist, and where you were packed in like a Cup Tie crowd returning from the Crystal Palace. How the horses hated those French trucks. Never before had they suffered such indignity. I would not have been a stableman on duty in one of those trucks for many a month's pay. "Mais, quelles bêtes!" said the railway officials. And the porters would run and fetch the stationmaster and gesticulate at the Compagnie's trucks, which had begun to look like bundles of firewood long before the frontier was reached. "Third return Clapham Junction, please," said the company wag. "Wotto! Berlin! Not 'arf," shouted the rest....