tended to discouragement." Retreat, in the presence of an advancing enemy, flushed with the full confidence of victory, is one of the most delicate and difficult of military operations, and one also that affords a crucial test of the discipline and morale of the retreating force. To such an extent has this been recognized that the successful retreats recorded in history have shed a very special degree of lustre on those in command and on the troops whom they conducted. After a lapse of twenty-three centuries, the account of the retreat of the famous Ten Thousand after the battle of Cunaxa is still read with undiminished interest and admiration. The operations of Jovian after the crushing defeat inflicted on the Emperor Julian in Persia are still cited as an instance of what can be accomplished by a highly trained and well-disciplined army. Sir John Moore's retreat to Corunna is another case in point, and the heroic action of Ney's rearguard during the retreat from Moscow, although it could not avert disaster, nobly redeemed the honour of the French Army. The retreat of the British force from Mons should find an honoured place side by side with these celebrated episodes. Good leadership was not wanting. Smith-Dorrien, Haig, and others deserved well of their country. But the honours of the day lay mainly with the regimental officers and men. "The very air," Mr. Coleman says, "was full of unostentatious heroism." He was told to "cheer the men up" as they straggled, ragged, muddy, and footsore, past him. He soon found that "many of us had been labouring under a great delusion. It was not that some one was needed to cheer up the Tommy; it was that most of us needed the Tommies to cheer _us_ up." An Irishman came by with a hole drilled through the lobe of his ear by a Mauser bullet. "Close that, I'm thinkin'," said the proud owner of the damaged member, "and I niver knew how close me ear was to me head till that thing come along." The following story also illustrates the spirit of the men, and shows what a capable officer with an innate genius for leadership can do in very difficult circumstances. Major Bridges, of the 4th Dragoon Guards, found a couple of hundred men of various detachments seated on the pavement in the square at St. Quentin in a state of complete exhaustion. They had been for thirty-six hours without food or sleep. He at once recognized that "no peremptory order, no gentle request, no clever cajolery would suffice." He therefore went into a toy-shop and bought a toy drum and a penny whistle. Then he asked the trumpeter whether he could play "The British Grenadiers." "Sure, Sir," was the reply. So the trumpeter whistled, and the gallant Major drummed vigorously. "The spark caught! Some with tears in their eyes, some with a roar of laughter, jumped to their feet and fell in. The weary feet, sore and bruised, tramped the hard cobbles unconscious of their pain. Stiffened limbs answered to the call of newly awakened wills.... 'Go