As William Glennie of "A" Company, writes:--"That the good old Battalion would end, we all expected, as the happy sequence of completed duty, and somehow we all imagined we would be there. In our ideal picture of the scene, George Square was clearly outlined; somehow we fancied old Hughie would order 'Officers, fall out please,' and while the ranks took the rhythmical right turn, the 'Faither' would step forward from the right of 'C' Company, give his characteristic red army salute, shake his cane and rap out 'Quick time off the parade ground' in his best Troon parade style. But we forgot the war, as too often in our ideal outlook we did. * * * * * "'Fall out ... the 17th Highland Light Infantry....' That was at No. 6 Camp, Calais, in the chill dusk of 6th February, 1918. Back from Blighty leave, as the news spread, we took it philosophically--the old Battalion had been disbanded, and scattered to various sister battalions. Here we were, practically all the originals to the number of about 50, the sole remnants of 26 months of war, welcomed back to France for the second time, but not to the Seventeenth; orphans to be adopted by strange parents. * * * * * "'Quick march.' The party swung slowly down the rough track between the huts. It was one of those innumerable hutted campments behind Poperinghe. At the junction of the road stood Colonel Inglis, Majors Morton and Paterson, Captain Dunsmuir and R.S.M. Kelly. It all seemed so usual, save that there was more handshaking and waving of bonnets. 'Cheerio, old chap--best of luck.' Gone, those pals of three years in camp, trench, billet and shell hole; but we never knew how great a part of our life they had become. Then in the look in each other's eyes, in the huskiness of the voice, rather than in the ill-concealed tear, came the full realisation of the undying spirit of our old Chamber of Commerce Battalion, and the certainty that the death of the Battalion had bequeathed to us the LIVING SOUL OF THE SEVENTEENTH." III.--AN ODD MUSTER. THE SPIRIT OF THE BATTALION. A corporate body is always a great mystery. Before very long it always develops a spirit which is something more than the sum of the individual spirits which compose it. And no man can quite say how it comes into existence. It may be a greater spirit than that of any individual. Sometimes it is not so great as that of its members. And Battalions are no exception to this rule. Each brings forth a spirit, and by that spirit the members are henceforth profoundly influenced. It is not the spirit of the Colonel, or of any particular member. It is the spirit of the Battalion, something compounded by the subtle alchemies of the spiritual world out of the individual souls of officers and privates alike.