all is quiet, only the artillery still popping. This evening we are to be relieved. The 132d Regiment is much beloved by the English! In a dugout we found two labels. One of them had the following writing on it: "God strafe the 132d Regiment (not "God strafe England” this time). Sergeant Scott (?) Remington, Sewster Wall (?)." On the other was, "I wish the Devil would take you, you pigs."

At 7.20 Hill 60 is bombarded by artillery, and shakes thirty to fifty metres, as if from an earthquake. Two English companies blown into the air a terrible picture. Dug-outs, arms, equipment all blown to bits.

July 17th. Marched to new quarters. We have got a new captain. He wants to see the company, so at 8 A. M. drill in pouring rain. Four times we have to lie on our belly, and get wet through and through. All the men grumbling and cursing. At eleven we are dismissed. I, with a bad cold and a headache. I wish this soldiering were all over.

July 19th. At seven sharp we marched off to our position. Heavy bombardment. At nine we were buried by a shell. I know no more. At eleven I found myself lying in the Field Hospital. I have pains inside me over my lungs; and headache, and burning in the joints.

July 20th. The M.O. has had a look at me. He says my stomach and left lung are suffering

from the pressure which was put on them. The principal remedy is rest.

July 21st. Thirty-nine degrees of fever (temp. 100° Fahr.). Stay in bed and sleep, and oh! how tired I am!

July 22d. I slept all day. Had milk and white bread to eat.

July 26th. Returned to duty with three days' exemption, i. e., we do not have any outdoor work.

July 28th and 29th. Still on exemption. Nothing to do but sleep and think of home and of my dear wife and daughter. But dreaming does not bring peace any sooner. How I would love an hour or two back home.

July 31st. In rest. Baths going. Duke of Württemberg passed through our camp.

August 1st. Up to the trenches. Shrapnel flying like flies. A heavy bombardment; bɔmbardment of Hooge. Second Battalion, 132d Regiment, sent up to reinforce 126th Regiment, which has already lost half its men.

August 4th. Heavy artillery fire the whole night. The English are concentrating 50,000 Indians on our front to attack Hooge and Hill 60. Just let them come, we shall stand firm. At three marched off to the front. Watch beginning again. Five o'clock marched off to the Witches' Cauldron, Hooge. A terrible night again. H.E. and shrapnel without number. Õh,

thrice-cursed Hooge! In one hour eleven killed and twenty-three wounded and the fire unceasing. It is enough to drive one mad, and we have to spend three days and three nights more. It is worse than an earthquake, and any one who has not experienced it can have no idea what it is like. The English fired a mine, a hole fifteen metres deep and fifty to sixty broad, and this "cauldron" has to be occupied at night. At present it is n't too badly shelled. At every shot the dug-outs sway to and fro like a weather-cock. This life we have to stick to for months. One needs nerves of steel and iron. Now I must crawl into our hole, as trunks and branches of trees fly in our trench like spray.

August 6th. To-night moved to the crater again, half running and half crawling. At seven a sudden burst of fire from the whole of the artillery. From about eleven yesterday fires as if possessed. This morning at four we fall back. We find the 126th have no communication with the rear, as the communication trenches have been completely blown in. The smoke and thirst are enough to drive one mad. Our cooker does n't come up. The 126th gives us bread and coffee from the little they have. If only it would stop! We get direct hits one after another and lie in a sort of dead end, cut off from all communication. If only it were night. What a feeling to be thinking every second when I shall get it!

has

just fallen, the third man in our platoon. Since eight the fire has been unceasing; the earth shakes and we with it. Will God ever bring us out of this fire? I have said the Lord's Prayer and am resigned.

To-day I saw the "Mound of Death" at Saint-Eloi; it has been mined a number of times, and thousands of shells have beaten it into a disorderly heap of earth; the trenches are twenty-five yards apart; all the grass and vegetation has been blown away and never has had time to grow up again.

It's all arranged for you, if there's a bit of shell or a bullet with your name on it you'll get it, so you've nothing to worry about. You are a soldier- then be one. This is the philosophy of the trenches.

War is a great ager. Young men grow old quickly here. It can be seen in their faces; they have lost all the irresponsibility of youth. I have met many men who have been here since Mons; they all look weary and