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Our second "pensionnaire " is a "Sous-Officier du Midi," (sub-officer from the South,) very tall, swarthy, two wide, open, black, glass eyes. In his red and blue uniform he is extremely smart. He kept accounts and wrote letters for the army until he went into action, and, after doing splendid service, had both eyes shot out. He was prisoner in Germany for a short time. When he returned to France he had incessant operations, changing from hospital to hospital. He had no hope of anything but his tiny pension, no knowledge of how to work, though with his whole determined make-up he longed for an active, useful life again.

He heard of us through another blind soldier, and was brought by a charming Duchess to see me at the lighthouse. With the Duchess, dressed in black, with trailing veils, came the wife, the sister-in-law, and the curly-headed youngster of our new recruit for light through work. He was very silent and correct. It was an inspiration to see the flush of excitement, the tightening of his nerves and muscles, as he listened as I told him his possible horizon in blindness.

"You mean, then, Madam, that I can actually write letters again, that I can keep accounts? Why, that is what I used to do. Is it possible that I can go back to my own life again?

"Quite possible," I answered: "come tomorrow, and let us see if it is probable!"

He came the next day, and with trembling hands grasped his first letters and touched the typewriter. Now, thoroughly at home in our sunny hotel, his energy and application to his study inspire the other men. He was a great fencer. His lithe figure, keen black eyes and Southern temperament must have made him a dangerous opponent.

Fencing for Blind Soldiers.

We have engaged the best fencing teacher in Paris to re-educate our blind heroes. This "Maitre d'Armes" Monsieur X., dressed in uniform, decorated with gorgeous orders bestowed on him by sovereigns, has undertaken our classes in fencing. I introduced him to some of our blind officers. It was a pretty sight to see his eyes fill with tears as they drew themselves up, clicked their heels together, and our Southerner raised his stick, giving the fencer's salute.

Another of our guests is a "Clarion" of historic name. One eye has entirely gone and he has a glass substitute, but in the other eye, a little precious light is left. The great oculist saved it for him, when he miraculously mended his shattered face.

Our "Clarion" is very quick, extremely good looking, and has a pretty little wife and a black-eyed daughter whom he worships. He wears the dark blue uniform, high black putties, and embroidered on his arm is the precious golden bugle. What fire and dash is pent up in this silent blind bugler! As his patient fingers pause in spelling out his "Braille" book, he still hears the rush of his comrades, sees the flash of their sabres as they charge to the summons of his bugle. He will never forget that charge: it cost him his sight.

Another of our light-finders is the Architect. He wears the uniform still pierced by the bayonet thrusts received in the battle of the Champagne, where he lost his eyes, He hopes to be a professor at the Lighthouse and, later, to get a place as a secretary and stenographer. He has become very efficient. The other men look up to him and envy his knowledge of "Braille" and stenography, and his ability to still build houses and make plans. Yesterday he started again at his old craft and built houses out of clay.

We have a sunny studio at the Phare and two inspired Americans, who are devoted to teaching our men to become deft with their ten eyes. We can boast already a remarkable exhibit from our modelling class and a still more remarkable achievement in re-educating the blind and giving them new sight through new facility and sensitiveness of touch. Not only has our Architect achieved much for himself, but he has undertaken to teach some of our sighted volunteers. The other day, he was struggling to teach "Braille" to a willing and extremely pretty blonde Marquise. Again and again her dainty fingers struggled with the baffling dots on the paper. Finally, the blind professor was sorry for her, and shaking his head benevolently, said to his pupil: "Pauvre Madame, ce.sont von yeux qui voile empechent de voir." (" Poor Madam, it is your eyes which prevent your seeing.")

Blinded in Belgium

Adjutant Legarde has described himself better than I could do in this letter which he wrote me a short while ago. I will let him tell his own story:

Paris.

Miss Holt:

For a month I have been a pensioner at the Lighthouse of France. Thanks to this beautiful work I feel that I have been reborn into life. I wish that I were a poet to sing all my acknowledgement to you. Alas! I am neither a poet nor a writer, but just a child of the people. Once again I feel obliged, in expressing my thanks to you, to express them also to America, the country to which I owe so much.

Struck down by a bullet in my head on the 22d of August, 1914, in Belgium, I was left for dead on the field by my comrades, who on the following day were obliged to retire before their innumerable horde. Picked up by friendly hands, cared for, cherished by these brave, and heroic Belgians, my captivity was relatively easy. But in the month of November, Belgium, violated, burned, and pillaged, succumbed to hunger. (Flour cost 130 francs.) With terror we saw the day come when, for lack of bread, the wounded French soldiers were about to be transported to Germany. Suddenly I learned that a great people, a great country, the United States, and a generous burst of human solidarity had assumed the heavy task of revictualing Belgium. Naturally the French wounded were going to benefit by this aid from over the sea, and would not have to eat the bread of an abhorred enemy! In December came the ships loaded with flour, bacon, dried beans, &c. One-third of the population received the necessities of life gratuitously, the rest paid a moderate price.