fine style, and I knew from the cheers all along the line that we were beating them back: _A Sergeant of the Worcester Regiment_. VII. WHAT THE SOLDIER SEES _On came the whirlwind--like the last But fiercest sweep of tempest blast: On came the whirlwind--steel-gleams broke Like lightning through the rolling smoke; The war was waked anew._ SIR WALTER SCOTT’S: “Waterloo.” _With fire and sword the country round Was wasted far and wide, And many a childing mother then And new-born baby died; But things like that, you know, must be At every famous victory._ SOUTHEY’S: “The Battle of Blenheim.” A daring German spy came into the British lines dressed in the uniform of a Scots Grey. He inquired the whereabouts of the Scots Greys; but his speech betrayed him, and on being stripped he was found to be wearing German underclothing: _Pte. A. Prescott, 1st King’s Liverpool Regiment_. A Good Night One night when I was out in Belgium it came on to rain, and I went home with a sergeant in the Belgian Lancers and slept in a lovely feather bed, and started off again for my destination after having a good breakfast and a deep drink of rum and coffee: _A Bombardier of the Royal Artillery_. A Far View We flew at 5000 feet, and saw a sight which I hope it will never be my lot to see again. The woods and hills were literally cut to ribbons all along the south of Laon. It was marvellous watching hundreds of shells bursting below one to right and left for miles, and then to see the German guns replying: _A Member of the Royal Flying Corps_. Brave Women The French women seemed to think that the best cure for shrapnel or bullet wound was a bottle of wine and a raw egg. After the Wednesday fight the women brought hot potatoes and new bread right into the trenches and firing line. I can assure you they are the bravest women I have ever met: _Rifleman Fisher_. Fatherly You would be surprised to see the enthusiasm of the people here. The little kiddies run towards you and put their hands in yours, just like my little kiddies at home. You can see little boys doing men’s work. I noticed one chap (he would not be more than ten years old) with a pair of horses, and he was ploughing all on his own: _A Private of the Royal Field Artillery_. Proud Indeed! I brought back on my lorry a wounded bombardier, and when the doctor told him that he would have his right leg and an arm amputated he did not seem to trouble a bit, but went on chatting and joking with us as if it were an everyday occurrence. He is only eighteen years old. As they were taking in the ambulance he said, “It’s not much to look forward to, but my mother will be proud of me”: _Corpl. Hollyer: Army Service Corps_. Wilted!