plant a kiss on each of his cheeks--if he dared. But, needless to say,
that is the last sort of thing Tommy wants. So, faute de mieux the
poilu walks as close to Tommy as he can--when he gets a chance--
and the undemonstrative, sure-of-himself Tommy permits it without a
smile--which is doing well. Still, in his own way Tommy admires back--
it is mutual.

The Englishman may learn to unbend--I don't know. The spirit which
has carried him all over the world, rubbed him against all sorts of
conditions and so many civilizations without changing his character,
and made of him the one race immune to home-sickness, has
persisted for centuries, and may be so bred in the bone, fibre, and
soul of the race as to persist forever. It may have made his legs and
his spine so straight that he can't unbend. He has his own kind of fun,
but it's mostly of the sporting sort. He will, I imagine, hardly contract
the Frenchman's sort, which is so largely on his lips, and in his
mentality, and has given the race the most mobile faces in the world.

I am enclosing a copy of the little map Captain S------sent me. It may
give you an idea of the route the English were moving on during the
battle, and the long forced march they made after the fighting of the
two weeks ending August 30.

I imagine they were all too tired to note how beautiful the country was.
It was lovely weather, and coming down the route from Haute
Maison, by La Chapelle, to the old moated town of Crécy-en-Brie at
sunset, must have been beautiful; and then climbing by Voulangis to
the Forest of Crécy on the way to Fontenay by moonlight even more
lovely, with the panorama of Villiers and the valley of the Morin seen
through the trees of the winding road, with Montbarbin standing,