The London _Morning Post_ prints an extract from a letter of a cavalry officer, giving an account of how the Indian troops behaved in their first encounter with shell fire. Although a cavalry officer, the writer was serving in the trenches. In his letter, written from Belgium, he says: "Night before last we were told that the regiment was going to be relieved by the Indians. I was delighted till I heard that my troops were to stay out to give them moral support, as it was their first go--a compliment, I suppose, although I didn't think so at the time. It was the most weird sight I've ever seen. "There were six farms and a windmill blazing, all set alight by shell fire, when these fellows with turbans and with flashing eyes and teeth came up out of the darkness. The undefeated dragoons, of course, became firm friends with them at once. French, Belgians, Indians--they make pals with them all. "Well, these natives had hardly got into the trenches on either side of me when the Germans opened fire. It was the worst half hour I've ever spent. As, of course, I couldn't make them understand and as they had never seen shells before I didn't know what they would do. They behaved splendidly, and I think they thought the shells were fireworks let off for their benefit. "The officer in charge of them told me that morning that he was most frightfully anxious as to how they'd do, but they shouted with glee when they saw a German and let him know what good shots they are. In the middle of the attack one native hurled himself into my trench and spoke excitedly to me. Of course, I couldn't make out what he wanted, but thought he wanted a doctor for some one, as he kept pointing at a cartridge, so I sent down for him, but when he arrived I discovered it was more ammunition they wanted and not the doctor." "YOU ARE AN ANGEL!" A vivacious English woman, the wife of a very well known officer bearing a famous name, returned over the border into Holland, after an adventurous day's tour behind the German lines. "I made up my mind to see for myself what was going on," she said, "so I disguised myself as a Flemish peasant woman, with the assistance of the national costume--earrings, headdress, and everything complete, down to the very shoes--stained my face brown with a concoction of strong coffee, borrowed a pair of spectacles and a market basket and set off across country on foot. "On my way out of town I met a German soldier with his arm and hand dreadfully shattered. His bandages had slipped and he was trying vainly to replace them. I helped him redress his nasty wounds and rebandaged them with a pocket bandage I happened to have with me. The soldier fumbled in his pocket, and at last produced a crumpled five-franc note which he offered me. I refused it. "'Why do you refuse good money for a good action, madame?' he said.