"Quick march," ordered the leading commander. The band struck up "The Girl I Left Behind Me," and with many a laugh and cheer the heroes stepped to war. If you have never known this great experience you will never understand. But a soldier knows it well. It is the greatest moment in his life. His pride is dominant, his step jaunty and gay, and his whole body permeated with an electric-like thrill peculiar to his kind. And there is a look in a woman’s eye which is a fine reward. Soldiers, on such occasions, rouse all that is great in a woman’s soul. She feels she is gazing at men. She realises that such men guard her from the brutalities of the Huns; she knows the children of her blood will not be bayoneted like the babes of Liége and Namur. Deep in her heart there is also sympathy and love, for women have a keen perception. Though she never lives in the tented field, she fully understands the horrors of it all. To one who has a lover in the van it is more trying still. Even the poorest are capable of great devotion. To see the object of their affection march to the field is a proud, yet a heart-gripping affair. If many of these men were scallywags, they were delightful scallywags, if one may use the term. And in their own way they could express that love which is mightier than the sword. Words will, therefore, hardly depict the sadness of parting. Thousands of fathers, mothers, and sweethearts had gathered to see their heroes off. No rudeness; no mock hilarity was seen. Even the men grew somewhat sad at leaving their all in all. As they swung through the station in their sections of fours, women burst into tears, some even swooned away. "God bless you, laddie!" said an old woman, falling on the neck of her son. He kindly unlinked the withered arms and marched silently on. Another woman seized her husband in the frenzy of grief and despair; while many a young girl clutched the hand of her lover for the last time on earth. Even the officers’ wives could not restrain their feelings. Caste and education could not stem the tears of sorrow for their own. Beautiful women in beautiful clothes stood sobbing by the carriage doors. Tearful partings were seen in the quiet corners of the great station. Even Spud Tamson was curiously white and still as he stood by the side of his own Mary Ann. "You’ll no’ forget me?" pleaded the distracted girl. "Na, Mary, I’ll no’ forget ye," was the soft reply. Then the great bell rang, after which a bugle sounded "Advance." A rattle of carriage doors, a shriek of the engine’s whistle, and off steamed the great express. Some one led a strong Hurrah! and a band played out a cheerful Good-bye. Handkerchiefs were waved and kind words echoed far. Grief, for a moment, subsided, and patriotism sprang to its heights. All gladly cheered their heroes off to war.