consecrated soil! Through the centuries to come it must always remain sacred to the hearts of Canadians. We made a small mound where the body lay, and then by quick dashes from shell hole to shell hole we got back at last to the communication trench, and I was indeed thankful to feel that my mission had been successful. I have received letters since I returned to Canada from the kind young fellow, who accompanied me on the journey, and I shall never cease to be grateful to him. I left him at his headquarters in Death Valley, and made my way past Courcellette towards the road. As the trench was very muddy, I got out of it, and was walking along the top when I came across something red on the ground. It was a piece of a man's lung with the windpipe attached. I suppose some poor lad had had a direct hit from a shell and his body had been blown to pieces. The Germans were shelling the road, so with some men I met we made a detour through the fields and joined it further on, and finally got to the chalk-pit where the 87th Battalion was waiting to go in again to the final attack. I was delighted to see my friends once more, and they were thankful that I had been able to find the grave. Not many days afterwards, some of those whom I then met were called themselves to make the supreme (p. 158) sacrifice. I spent that night at the Rear Headquarters of the 4th Division, and they kindly sent me back the next day to Camblain l'Abbe in one of their cars. On November 24th I received a telegram saying that a working party of one of the battalions of the 4th Division had brought my son's body back, and so on the following day I motored once again to Albert and laid my dear boy to rest in the little cemetery on Tara Hill, which he and I had seen when he was encamped near it, and in which now were the bodies of some of his friends whom I had met on my last visit. I was thankful to have been able to have him buried in a place which is known and can be visited, but I would say to the many parents whose sons lie now in unknown graves, that, after all, the grave seems to be a small and minor thing in view of the glorious victory and triumphant life which is all that really matters. If I had not been successful in my quest, I should not have vexed my soul with anxious thought as to what had become of that which is merely the earthly house of the immortal spirit which goes forth into the eternal. Let those whose dear ones lie in unrecorded graves remember that the strong, glad spirits--like Valiant for Truth in "Pilgrim's Progress"--have passed through the turbulent waters of the river of death, and "all the trumpets have sounded for them on the other side."