"And under that 'Got mitt uns' (_sic_), that being the highest effort of all the men at German. Not bad for a blood-thirsty Briton, eh? Really that shows the spirit." It does, and a noble spirit too. God bless you, Thomas Atkins; here's your country's love to you. Now was the opportunity also for the chaplains to dispense the gifts from home to the war-worn men. How delighted the men were with them, and how every gift was regarded as the gift of love! Even war has its bright side, and surely one of the brightest spots on the bright side of war has been the spontaneous offering of kindly hearts at home to our soldiers abroad. In almost every home in the land skilled and unskilled fingers have been at work. Knitting had almost become a lost art, but now every school-girl knits, and knits not for herself but for the soldiers. And the men who could not knit found the money, and sent their own special gifts. How they rolled in! What delightful work they gave the chaplains and those associated with them! Cigars, tobacco, cigarettes, candles, matches, soap, socks, mittens, body belts, gloves--and so we might go on quoting almost every article the soldier needs. "You see," said one Tommy, "I've lost all my shirts but one--the one I'm wearing--and that's borrowed. Thanks very much, that's just what I wanted." And the Indians, too, how they appreciated their gifts! One of them wrote this characteristic little letter to his chaplain--the Rev. A.E. Knott--who had come with them from India. "Honourable and most gracious Captain Sahib, Padre Sahib,--We are all delighted with the things you have sent us. Sir, may God bless you that you have remembered us. It is very kind of you, and we are very pleased, and for the ladies, our gratitude, who like mothers have regarded us. May no sorrow befall them. From many men, many, many thanks and salaams; also from the writer many salaams." So hearts were gladdened, and bodies made warm, and our soldiers thanked God and took courage when they realised that they were not forgotten by "the old folks at home." And now it is time to sum up this chapter. What is the general impression that it leaves? The whole scene is weird in the extreme. Darkness hangs over the trenches. The work is done for the most part at night. When those of us at home are sleeping, our brothers and sons at the front are charging with the bayonet through the deep darkness. Others are quietly moving backwards and forwards--backward with the wounded, forward with food and reinforcements. Snow and rain and frost! Shrapnel, and rifle fire, and "Jack Johnsons"! Day after day, week after week, even month after month! The monotony of the day must be fearful, the horrors of the night recall the descriptions of the _Inferno_. I do not wonder that, in some cases, nerves have given way, and men have had to be carried to the rear suffering from complete nervous collapse.