miracle was not hurt, extricated himself from the pile of rubbish under which he found himself, and rushed down to the cellar, where he expected to find the mangled remains of his telephonist. There was the man, his hands full of fragments that had once been a telephone, standing with a puzzled expression on his face. "I 'ardly know what to do with this 'ere instrument, sir," was his greeting. "I don't see as 'ow I'm goin' to mend it without goin' back to the battery for some spare parts." Observation by night is sometimes useful, as then the flashes of hostile batteries can be seen most distinctly. It is, however, a peculiarity of modern propellants that the actinic power of the flame produced on their combustion is such as to attract attention in broad daylight. I have had my eye caught by the flash of a ten-centimetre gun about four miles away at four o'clock on a sunny afternoon in September, and there is no doubt that this distance has frequently been exceeded. Still, night of course is the best time, although then it is very much easier to mistake the flash of a bursting shell for that of a gun, and even if flashes are observed, nothing can be noted except their direction, their surroundings being invisible. And a few hours at night in an O.P. have their compensations. Over the trenches rise continually the searching lights, throwing everything into sudden contrast of light and shade, making of the familiar scene whose every stone and blade of grass one thought to know by heart, a strange land of white snow islands standing sheer out of yawning black gulfs. Every now and then sharp tongues of flame dart out from the parapet, a sudden lurid flash in the air shows a bursting shrapnel, or a brighter one on the ground the more violent detonation of high explosive. Perhaps a rocket signal of green and red goes up, followed by a quicker succession of flashes of all kinds as a patrol between the trenches is discovered. Perhaps one may be lucky enough to see a chance shell start a huge fire, such as burnt once for three days and three nights in Cité St. Pierre, producing a glow as of twilight two good miles away. Whatever may be seen, night has its fascination in this strange world of sleepless activity as much as in a land of quiet, but here its fascination is a stirring into life of eager pulses, a whispering in the ear of that ever-ready lust of battle that makes of war the finest sport that man ever devised. Somehow at night all deeds seem possible. IV THE FOUR DAYS (September 21-24, 1915)