It is not necessary to claim that these qualities are the sole possession of the Christian man. It is, indeed, far otherwise. But the Christian graces produce them best of all. Mr. Day is right when he says, "Though apparently careless and light-hearted, one realised that there was a deep-rooted religion in our soldiers, and that it was indeed a fool's game to judge a man by his outward appearance." It is largely because of that "deep-rooted religion" that the qualities of "bravery, endurance, heroism, and patience" are produced. We must remember that our Army at the front is made up in no small degree of men from homes in which God is honoured, many of them old Sunday-school boys. They have been trained in religion, they have been taught to pray. Some have forgotten much that they were taught, but they have not forgotten the old hymns and prayers, and in their time of need that "deep-rooted" religious instinct has asserted itself. As one of them said to me, "I grew too old for Sunday-school, and I wandered far away from God. For years I never prayed; but in the battle of the Marne I began to pray again, and I have kept on praying. I tell you what it is, sir, most men out there are praying now." Yes, there is felt the need for God and so there is prayer. My point is that, all things being equal, the man who prays is the best soldier, because he possesses spiritual power as well as material. [Illustration: _Central News Photo._ THE BISHOP OF LONDON AT THE FRONT AT EASTER. Addressing men of the Army Service Corps from a transport cart] I purpose therefore telling in this chapter of the heroism of the men who pray, while at the same time I do not overlook the heroism of the Army as a whole. My purpose will be answered if I convince my readers that, instead of religion impairing the courage of our soldiers, it is increased and intensified thereby. May I first speak of the courage of our chaplains? Not every one expects a "parson" to be brave. The pulpit has been spoken of by the ill-informed as "The Coward's Castle," but hundreds of these parsons have been transferred to the forefront of the fight. As I write this, many of them are already fighting in the ranks, and many more will soon be there. But the chaplain is not a fighting man. Not a shot does he fire, not a bayonet thrust does he give. He sees the shot and shell bursting round him, but he has not the stimulus of the fight. How have they borne themselves--these men who have been transferred from the pulpit to the battle-field? Two hundred of them are there. Has there been one lacking in courage? I doubt it. The stories I have already told are stories of conspicuous bravery. Let me add one or two more.