"I have made inquiries as to how the men behave in the trenches. What effect has the imminence of death upon the character of the men? Some use language more forcible than polite. Some find the Black Marias and shells a source of entertainment. Some turn their feelings into the songs of Zion. Many vows to God are made on the field of battle, and a Christian soldier has a great opportunity of which he is not slow to make use. In a chat with one such, Private J. Downs, of the Welsh Regiment, a good Baptist, whom I found in hospital recovering from a wound, he told me how he lost his chum. They were sharing a dug-out together, and had agreed, should either fall, to write home the terrible news. His friend said, 'You will tell my wife I am ready, that to God I have given my trust.' Just before he fell he sang 'Jesus is tenderly calling thee home.' Little did he realise how near was his own call. A bullet struck him in the head. Last Thursday the letter was written." The second is from the Rev. E.L. Watson, and forcibly depicts to us the highest form of courage--courage that triumphs in spite of fear and triumphs through Christ. Such courage is the possession of every Christian soldier. "At another farm-house in absolute darkness and silence we reached our second dressing station. The regimental medical officer was absent, but the sergeant in charge was ready to deliver over his charge. I stepped into what appeared to be a large living room covered with straw, upon which some fifteen men were lying in absolute silence. No groans, no word of complaint escaped the lips of a single man, no asking for drink, nor claiming first assistance. I felt my way over several, and was able to whisper a word of cheer here and there. One badly wounded man guided my hand to that of a lad near by with the words, 'Speak a word to that lad, chaplain, he must need his mother.' Out of that darkness one by one they were carefully lifted on to stretchers and put into the ambulances. "One incident impressed me very much that night in that chamber of agony. Just as the last man was being carried out I heard a sob near by me, and putting out my hand touched a stretcher-bearer who had become jumpy. Poor boy, and no wonder. Only seventeen years of age, and away from home for the first time. Empty stomach and soaked clothes, bringing in and remaining with the wounded till relieved, with death outside at every step. This first night of his experience with war was trying his strength and testing his nerve. I took his hand, and whispered a message, and I heard him go out with his little company again towards the trenches over a fire-swept area. "Men claim that heroism always comes to the front in a crisis, and so it does, but I have learned too that the heroic soul is not always the fearless one. In the case of this lad the sense of duty overcame his sense of fear, and away he went to face death, brave and heroic, in spite of a trembling heart and unsteady hand."