In the early days of the war this transit to the base was difficult in the extreme, and the wounded arrived there in a shocking condition. It is as well, perhaps, that we should know what really happened, so I copy a paragraph from _Guy's Hospital Gazette_ of November 7, 1914. It is from a letter signed "G.H.F.G." "The train has just arrived and even now some few wounded are being removed from the waggons, the gravest of all being given treatment in an improvised hospital by the sidings, others less serious, though bad enough in all conscience, are carried on stretchers to the central goods shed, where the commandant, aided by a large staff of excitable, bearded assistants, directs to what hospital they are to be sent. "For some minutes we watch the unloading of these waggons. Preceded by orderlies the officer passes from door to door, entering some, and questioning briefly the men lying full length or sitting in what comfort they can upon the straw-covered boards. As the panel slides back a fetid odour of pus reaches the nostrils; startled by the unexpected brightness a couple of horses tethered at one end of the truck stamp and whinney. Carrying an acetylene flare, which makes weird effects of chiaroscuro on the bare walls and floor, an orderly comes in and collects the histories of the men. One man, wounded in the head, persists in taking him for a German, the others laugh and point to their foreheads. A little further on, in second and third-class carriages, men with arms in slings, and less serious body wounds, crowd in the corridors and clamour for food and drink." What wonder after this that we are told that most of the wounds received in those early days were septic on their arrival at the base hospital? How different it all is at the present time! Now well-appointed hospital trains move backwards and forwards from the clearing hospitals to the base. For the first time we enter the nurse's sphere. Everything changes when the nurse appears upon the scene. She loves order. Cleanliness is her life. She is trained in all the little arts of nursing which bring comfort and peace. She can do what no man can do. The doctor is splendid at his own special work, the stretcher-bearer, the ambulance man, and the hospital orderly at his. But it remains for women to do what man can never do, and with her light touch, and tender sympathy, to soothe and comfort and bless. When pain and anguish wring the brow A ministering angel thou. The hospital trains are called "Kitchener's trains"--another tribute to the great man who, from his room at the War Office, seems to overlook everything and forget nothing. Miss Beardshaw, writing to her old hospital--Guy's--gives a description of one of these hospital trains well worth reproduction here.