I sent you with my baggage my note-book from August 18 to October 20.[2]
These notes were made when we could easily get at our light bags, in the
calm of our trench-days, when our danger stopped our chattering, and I
could let my heart speak. I found a happiness more intense, wider and
fuller, to write to you about. That was a time of paradise for me. But I
don't like the billets, because the comfort and the security, relaxing
our minds, bring about a great deal of uproar which I don't like. You
know how much I have always needed quiet and solitude. Still, I have
excellent friends, and the officers are very kind.

But with a little patience and a few thoughts about you I can be happy.
How kind this first half of November has been! I have not suffered once
from cold. And how lovely it was! That All Saints' Day was nothing but a
long hymn--from the night, with its pure moonlight on the dark amber of
the autumn trees, to the tender twilight. The immense rosy dream of
this misty plain, stretching out towards the near hills. . . . What a
song of praise! and many days since then have sung the glory of God.
Coeli ennarrant. . . .

That is what those days brought to me.

[Footnote 2: Part of this note-book has already been given.]


_November 15, 7 o'clock._

Yesterday the wild weather, fine to see from the shelter of our billet,
brought me apprehensions for to-night's departure, but when I woke the
sky was the purest and starriest that one could dream of! How grateful I