During the fighting around Ypres the Royal Flying Corps did splendid service. A _Daily News_ correspondent tells of one young flying man who seemed to make a perfect hobby of his work. The following account of his doings will give you an excellent idea of how airmen direct the fire of guns. "From dawn to sunset," says the correspondent, "this young officer is up and about, doing the most wonderful things with the utmost coolness. The other morning, up ahead of the lark, he volplaned[69] from a great height right in the midst of the German lines, as though he meant to make a brief morning call for breakfast. The Germans were too astonished for the moment to do anything but gasp and gape at him, though he was easily within range. He impudently stopped his engine, dropped half a dozen 'puffs' (as our Tommies call the aeroplane bombs) into a cavalry cluster, waved his hand, and off and above he went again. "Hundreds of rifle shots whirred around him as he fled; two of them struck him; and three minutes later he was down in the British lines once more, with blood trickling through the rents in his tunic. He was patched up and bandaged, had a good, hearty lunch, and before teatime he was up again in one of his mad frolics in the air. 'Surely you've had enough for one day,' said General ----; 'have a rest at least until to-morrow. We don't want to lose these matinée performances of yours; they're too fine for anything.' But the young aviator jammed his armoured helmet on his head, and said he couldn't resist making a flight, because it was great fun, and kept him fit. So off he went again.