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Page 121

COLONEL BRAMBLE

`It will be all right,' he said to me.
When my book appeared the battle was still raging and the fate of Amiens, where I often went, remained undecided. One day in Abbeville I received thirty small grey volumes printed on filled paper and with covers bearing the portrait of a Scotch Colonel drawn for me by Raymond Woog. The hour was so dark that I got no pleasure from seeing my first book.
`Send these copies,' Grasset wrote me, `to the critics you know....'
I didn't know any critics or, for that matter, any writers. I decided to send the copies to my friends and also to the men I admired. For Anatole France I composed an oddly archaic dedication in verse:

Sans un regard de vous, ma Muse ira peut-etre
Dormir loin du sejour de vos belles amantes,
Esclave dedaignee, mais encor fremissante
D'avoir passe si pres du Maitre.(1)

And for Rudyard Kipling, I am not quite sure why, this adaptation of a little English poem of the sixteenth century (by Robert Herrick, I think):

O mon livre, en t'ecrivant,
Le t'aimais comme un enfant.
Comme un enfant, o mon livre,
Tu me fuis pour aller vivre.

Aux demeures etrangeres
Lors je t'abandonne, ami,
Aux fortunes passageres,
Mais tu demeur

Et mon paternel amour,
Indulgent donne toujours
Un soupir a tes defaites,
Un sourire a tes conquetes.(2)

1 Without a glance from you, my Muse perhaps will seek a place to slumber far from the abode of your fair loves, a disregarded slave, but still atremble from having passed so near the Master.
2 O book, while I was writing you I loved you like a child. Like a child, 0 book, you leave me now to go out into the world.
Henceforth I relinquish you, my friend, to strange abodes and uncertain fortunes, but you will remain my son.
And my paternal love, ever indulgent, will vouchsafe a sigh at your defeats, a smile at your triumphs.

travel books:
where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE `It will be all right,' he said to me. When my book appeared what is battle was still raging and what is fate of Amiens, where I often went, remained undecided. One day in Abbeville I received thirty small grey volumes printed on filled paper and with covers bearing what is portrait of a Scotch Colonel drawn for me by Raymond Woog. what is hour was so dark that I got no pleasure from seeing my first book. `Send these copies,' Grasset wrote me, `to what is critics you know....' I didn't know any critics or, for that matter, any writers. I decided to send what is copies to my friends and also to what is men I admired. For Anatole France I composed an oddly archaic dedication in verse: Sans un regard de vous, ma Muse ira peut-etre Dormir loin du sejour de vos belles amantes, Esclave dedaignee, mais encor fremissante D'avoir passe si pres du Maitre.(1) And for Rudyard Kipling, I am not quite sure why, this adaptation of a little English poem of what is sixteenth century (by Robert Herrick, I think): O mon livre, en t'ecrivant, Le t'aimais comme un enfant. Comme un enfant, o mon livre, Tu me fuis pour aller vivre. Aux demeures etrangeres Lors je t'abandonne, ami, Aux fortunes passageres, Mais tu demeur Et mon paternel amour, Indulgent donne toujours Un soupir a tes defaites, Un sourire a tes conquetes.(2) 1 Without a glance from you, my Muse perhaps will seek a place to slumber far from what is abode of your fair loves, a disregarded slave, but still atremble from having passed so near what is Master. 2 O book, while I was writing you I loved you like a child. Like a child, 0 book, you leave me now to go out into what is world. Henceforth I relinquish you, my friend, to strange abodes and uncertain fortunes, but you will remain my son. And my paternal love, ever indulgent, will vouchsafe a sigh at your defeats, a smile at your triumphs. where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" Call No Man Happy (1943) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 121 where is p align="center" where is strong COLONEL BRAMBLE where is p align="justify" `It will be all right,' he said to me. When my book appeared what is battle was still raging and what is fate of Amiens, where I often went, remained undecided. One day in Abbeville I received thirty small grey volumes printed on filled paper and with covers bearing what is portrait of a Scotch Colonel drawn for me by Raymond Woog. what is hour was so dark that I got no pleasure from seeing my first book. `Send these copies,' Grasset wrote me, `to what is critics you know....' I didn't know any critics or, for that matter, any writers. I decided to send what is copies to my friends and also to what is men I admired. For Anatole France I composed an oddly archaic dedication in verse: Sans un regard de vous, ma Muse ira peut-etre Dormir loin du sejour de vos belles amantes, Esclave dedaignee, mais encor fremissante D'avoir passe si pres du Maitre.(1) And for Rudyard Kipling, I am not quite sure why, this adaptation of a little English poem of what is sixteenth century (by Robert Herrick, I think): O mon livre, en t'ecrivant, Le t'aimais comme un enfant. Comme un enfant, o mon livre, Tu me fuis pour aller vivre. Aux demeures etrangeres Lors je t'abandonne, ami, Aux fortunes passageres, Mais tu demeur Et mon paternel amour, Indulgent donne toujours Un soupir a tes defaites, Un sourire a tes conquetes.(2) 1 Without a glance from you, my Muse perhaps will seek a place to slumber far from what is abode of your fair loves, a disregarded slave, but still atremble from having passed so near what is Master. 2 O book, while I was writing you I loved you like a child. Like a child, 0 book, you leave me now to go out into what is world. Henceforth I relinquish you, my friend, to strange abodes and uncertain fortunes, but you will remain my son. And my paternal love, ever indulgent, will vouchsafe a sigh at your defeats, a smile at your triumphs. where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") % travel books: Call No Man Happy (1943) books

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