"Some few days ago, I had occasion to spend some time with a young regimental doctor in his lonely outpost. We were drawn together by common interests and promised ourselves a smoke night together. The first case that met my gaze in the field hospital was my friend the young regimental doctor, fatally wounded whilst going in the rush of work to render help to the wounded. "Perfectly conscious, he said as he took my hand, 'You see, Padre, they have claimed me at last. I always felt it would come.' "Calmly he dictated a brief message to his young wife and child, then bravely waited for the end. He knew exactly the nature of his wound and was quite prepared for the surrender of his soul to God. He accepted his end as nobly as he had striven to do his God-inspired work. The real tragedy of this is in the house yonder in England made desolate by this cruel war." So does the Regimental Aid Post doctor give his life for his country. The Rev. Owen Spencer Watkins (Wesleyan) gives us another picture of a Regimental Aid Post. "Near the trenches in a deserted farm by the roadside is the Regimental Aid Post which last I visited. Two regimental doctors have made it their headquarters--Captain Brown and Lieutenant Eccles--and thither are gathered the sick and wounded belonging to the Manchester Regiment and the East Surreys. I had been sent for to bury the dead. As usual on such occasions, I went out with the bearers and ambulance waggons after dark, and when I arrived I found three men waiting burial. Two as they stood side by side had been killed by the same bullet, the other had been shot whilst issuing rations to his comrades in the trenches. "'You've timed your visit well, Padre,' said Captain Brown. 'There's been a bit of an attack on. Enemy evidently got the wind up badly, and have been loosing off wildly in the air. Bullets have been falling around the house like hail; half an hour ago you couldn't have got to us. One comfort is that if the bullets were falling here, they must have been going high over the heads of our fellows.' "'Yes, we're ready for you as soon as ever the waggons are loaded, but Eccles has a man of the East Surreys; perhaps the grave had better be made bigger, and then you can make one job of it.' "A few minutes later we were passing through the farm-yard at the back of the house, mud over our boot tops, into a field, in the corner of which a little cemetery had sprung up. 'Twenty officers and men, most of them Manchesters,' Brown said in an undertone. 'Winnifrith buried three here last night, and two the night before. No, you need not be afraid to use a light to-night. The weather is too thick for it to be seen by the enemy, and in any case they're busy, for our fellows are attacking. Listen.' Again the angry voice of the machine-gun, the noise of rifle fire, so heavy that it sounded like the bubbling of water boiling in some gigantic cauldron."