The little donkey, which, yoked to a little waggon, brings us on most days a load of parcels, and which has become so friendly to an alien officer that even in charge of a somewhat obdurate driver it will make a sudden detour from its course in order to shove its muzzle into my hand, was grazing in the circular grass plot in the centre of the square.
“It is the better German in the camp!” says Cotta. “Ah, I am very sad, very sad,” he proceeds. “I have no letter from my girl, and the Germans have take from me her photograph. Damn! damn!”
AN ITALIAN MAJOR OF MOUNTAIN ARTILLERY.
PLAYBILL FOR LADY GREGORY’S “THE RISING OF THE MOON”
