It was a pitiful sight to see the people fleeing from their homes carrying all they could save. Our soldiers are very kind to them, and give them whatever they can spare--and sometimes more than that. I saw one young woman trying to reach some fruit from a tree which was a good way out of her reach, and, not thinking, I went over and gave her some pears which I had given me. She ate them hurriedly, but before doing so gave me a kiss on both cheeks, which was rather enjoyed by the rest of the troops standing by: _Driver J. Brennan, Army Service Corps_. So Glad! Oh, dear! I am pleased all my good women live in England. Often I see cottage homes a-smoke and in flames. Villages, too! Dogs forlorn, cats despondent on doorsteps. And yesterday I saw three little dots walking along the muddy road with a tiny wheelbarrow. We were, when we passed them, going under cover from a severe shell fire, whilst they were going in the direction whence we were coming. At present we are billeted in the buildings about a huge water-mill. The wooded hills are all around, and the harvests seem all gathered in about here. It is not so elsewhere: _A Reservist of the Beds Regiment_. The Gallant Belgians We are doing fine, and have earned the name of the “Fighting Fifth” again. We have heard that some Hindus have come from India to fight, and the public expect great things from them; but you take it from me, no matter how brave, how fearless they may be, they will never equal the brave little Belgian people. What other race in the world could have fought with more courage and determination than they when the German curs burnt Louvain and committed the most dastardly outrages? Who were they who bit their lips to hide their feelings, but who swore that the Germans should pay for it--not in the way the Germans made the women and children suffer, but by good lead and cold steel? The Belgians! _Pte. A. Hayes, of Upper Wortley_. In the Dark We had not gone three hundred yards before the Germans fired on us. We were between two farmhouses. We were only about thirty to forty yards off, and we didn’t half give it them. We could hear the wounded Germans moaning and groaning, and it was awful to hear. It was dark, and we fired low because we knew that was the best way to get them. Just then a piece of shrapnel came through the peak of my cap and grazed my nose. It was a near thing, but I took no notice of it and kept on firing. The man next to me was then shot dead, and our captain was shot slightly in the head, but he continued to give orders. A piece of my boot was blown away, and I received a piece of shrapnel in my right shoulder, and consequently saw no more of the fighting: _Pte. Brayshaw, Guards Brigade_. A Bold Battery