The British Army is playing the rôle which it often has played before. It is fighting a Waterloo while Blücher is marching to the battlefield. The British Army is under a terrible hammering, but, providing we stand that hammering without breaking down, and providing Blücher is marching to the battlefield, there is no reason for discouragement. The enormous task which the British Army has performed and still is performing may be shown by a few figures. In this battle of Armentières the Germans thus far have engaged twenty-eight divisions (392,000 men) and since March 21 they have engaged 126 divisions, (1,764,000 men.) Of these the British Army alone has engaged seventy-nine, (1,106,000 men,) the French alone have engaged twenty-four, (336,000 men,) and the remainder, twenty-three, (322,000 men,) have been engaged by the British and French together. Of the German divisions which the British engaged, twenty-eight have been fought twice and one thrice. Of the German divisions which the French engaged, four have fought twice. Of the German divisions which the French and British engaged together, fifteen have been fought twice and one thrice. It is unpleasant business standing the hammering, but so long as we can stand it the only question to be asked is, What is happening to Blücher--what has become of the reserves? Thus the perilous situation stood at the time when this magazine went to press--April 19--with the British fighting fiercely in Flanders and waiting for Foch to strike with his reserve forces and relieve the strain. The Women's Army Auxiliary Corps By JOHN OXENHAM _Great work! State work!--willingly done and well, For the men who are doing so much for us Ay--more than words can tell! Right work! White work! faithfully, skillfully done, But the whole of the soul of it will not be known Till the war is properly won._ They mend the men; they tend the men; They help them carry on; They drop a little veil upon The woes they've undergone. They feed the men; they speed the men; They make their daily bread; They mend them while they're living, And they tend them when they're dead. There's many a lonely man out there They've saved from black despair; There's many a lowly grave out there Made gracious by their care. They toil for them; they moil for them; Help lame dogs over stiles, And do their best to buck them up With cheery words and smiles. They're just a little bit of home, Come out to lend a hand. They're gleams of warm bright sunshine In a dreary, weary land. They are sweet as pinks and daisies, Just the sight of them is good, When you've lived for eighteen months or so In a sink of Flanders mud.