The Scene: The Talus des Zouaves--a narrow valley running behind Vimy Ridge from Neuville St. Vaast through Souchez. The weather is bleak, and there is a sticky drizzle--it is towards dusk. The Man: A native of "somewhere just awf the 'Bricklayers Arms'--you know where that is, sir." Height, just over 5 feet; complexion, red; hair, red and not over tidy; appearance, awkward; clothes don't seem to fit quite. Distinguishing marks--a drooping red moustache almost concealing a short clay pipe, stuck bowl sideways in the corner of the mouth. On the face there is a curious--whimsical--wistful, in fact, a Cockney expression. The Occasion: The Boche is putting down his evening "strafe"--an intense and very accurate barrage laid like a curtain on the southern slope of the valley. Our hero, his hands closed round the stock of his rifle held between his knees, is squatting unconcernedly on the wet ground in the open on the northern side of the valley, where only a shell with a miraculous trajectory could have scored a direct hit, watching the shells burst almost every second not a great distance away. The din and pandemonium are almost unbearable. Fragments of H.E. and shrapnel are dropping very near. The Remark: Removing his pipe to reveal the flicker of a smile, he remarked, in his inimitable manner: "_Lor' blimey, guv'nor, wouldn't this sahnd orl rite on a grammerphone?_"--_Gordon Edwards, M.C. (Captain, late S.W.B.), "Fairholm," 48 Alexandra Road, Wimbledon, S.W.19._ Logic in No Man's Land Fritz had been knocking our wire about, and a party of us were detailed to repair it. One of our party, a trifle more windy than the rest, kept ducking at the stray bullets that were whistling by. Finally, 'Erb, who was holding the coil of wire, said to him, "Can't yer stop that bobbin' abaht? They won't 'urt yer unless they 'its yer."--_C. Green, 44 Monson Road, New Cross, S.E.14._ Fousands ... and Millions It was on the Mons-Condé Canal, on the afternoon of August 23, 1914. Our artillery had just opened up when a tiny Cockney trumpeter, who could not have been more than 15 years old, came galloping up to us with a message. [Illustration: "They're coming on in millions."] "How are the gunners going on, boy?" said my captain. "Knocking 'em down in fousands, sir," replied the lad. "Good," said the captain. "Yus, and they're coming on in millions," replied the boy as he rode away to his battery. A plucky kid, that.--_W. H. White, 29 Clive Road, Colliers Wood, S.W.19._ Lost: A Front Line Two or three American officers were attached to our brigade H.Q. on the Somme front.