This same martial spirit is found all along the line. What can be more novel and inspiring than the aviators who fight their fantastic duels 3000 metres above the earth? Again, the sangfroid, the supreme devotion of the artillery, who amidst apalling losses and the heaviest bombardment, stick to their posts, regulating their fire and working their guns, taking every risk without a moment's hesitation. The infantry, that backbone of the army with their "élan" carry forward the banner of France or die heroically in no-man's land. In every attack, glorious acts are done, often by the humblest of soldiers, whose abnegation and modesty is only equalled by their scorn of death! One is amazed at this wonderful state of mind. Men of all ages and all conditions excel in these heroic qualities. Fathers of families, who know how anxiously they are awaited in the home; young men, with the call of life ringing in their ears, go gaily into the combat—they have counted the cost—and lay down their lives with simplicity and dignity; with no other thought than their duty to their country; with no other ambition than "to be there when we get them (d'etre la quand on les aura)." Pessimists and pacifists will say, "Oh, yes, that is very noble, very sublime; but when the heat of the battle is past, when excitement and furor has disappeared, what is left to the poor fellows, suffering from wounds, fever and pain? They must be greatly disillusioned then, these gay soldiers." Yet he who speaks thus, let him go to any ward in any of the great hospitals in Paris or elsewhere and there receive his answer. Here is a soldier of the class of 1914. When he left for the war, his family was in easy circumstances. His father a well-to-do merchant, his mother and sisters lived comfortably and happily in their charming home. Since then the father has died, poverty came, his sisters now are working for their living, supporting the mother, and he, young, vigorous, intelligent, and well-educated, who in ordinary times would have replaced the father, has received a terrific wound in the head, and is blind for life. Does he whimper or complain? Hear his answer: "I ought to have been killed" he said pleasantly, "when they drew the bullet from my head. I might have remained an idiot or an epileptic, but, thank God, I am getting better and better, and I shall learn a trade. I am told there are good ones for the blind and I shall help support my dear ones."