ABSTRACT
I HAVE a recollection of having traversed, throughout the whole of the afternoon of this same day, immense interminable plateaux of sand covered with bracken—such as are the Landes of the south of France. These plains were of a greenness tender and fresh beyond words, of the sweet new green of April. An attenuated ray of sunshine enlightened them obstinately, at the single precise spot at which we were, as if the gleam were following us, while, around, the mountains bounding the horizon, overhung by dark clouds, were confused with the sky in grim and sinister obscurity. Curtains of mist tempered a curious light of the colour of silver-gilt, of very pale vermeil, and to see this African campaign so green and over-cast took us by surprise.
