about four and one-half inches across, which came from a German gun. The edges are so sharp that it cuts your hand to hold it. I use it as a paper-weight.

This morning I experienced a wonderful surprise. I had gone up to one of the North Stafford Batteries to borrow a clinometer. The major, while he was getting the instrument for me, casually remarked: "There's yesterday's 'Times' on the bench if you care to look at it." I turned first to the casualty list and later to the "London Gazette" for the promotions, and wholly by accident perused carefully the Motor Machine Gun Service list and there noted the announcement, "Keene, Louis, 2d Lieut., to be 1st Lieut.," and for a fact this was the "official" intimation that I had been promoted. I had a couple of spare "pips", rank stars, in my pocket-book, so I got my corporal to sew them on right away.

We are all very happy at times, very dirty, and covered with stings and bites; have no

idea how long we are to remain up. Getting used to the shell fire, and can sleep through it if it's not too close. When it comes near it makes you very thoughtful. Still working at night and resting during the day. Made another emplacement for one of my machine guns last night; had twenty men digging; surprising how fast men dig when the bullets are flying.

It's about 2 A.M. We have just come in. My new emplacement is splendid; we've made it shell-proof and have it ready for firing. I was coming home this afternoon after having been to the fire trenches when I heard a shout: "Keene!" I looked up on the canal bank and I saw the general with one of his A.D.C.'s sitting watching an aeroplane duel. "I've come up to see your gun position, Keene." I saluted, waited for him, and took him to it. It is below the level of the ground under tons of bricks in the ruins of a farmhouse. He was standing on the roof of it and said, "Well, where's the

emplacement?" "You're standing on it, sir.” "Tut, tut, 'pon my word, that's good." He was delighted and congratulated me on it. My preliminary work under the eyes of the general has gone off quite well. I start firing to-night.

Intimacy between generals and lieutenants is unusual, but it looks as if mine had taken an interest in me, because when he noticed my insect-bitten face, he sent me down some dope he had used with good effect in India. I expect the mosquitoes in India were the ordinary kind, but, believe me, trench "skeeters" are constructed differently and are proof against the general's pet concoction.

I have several miners in my section who take a personal pride in the digging and shoring up of dugouts. So far the other two sections of the Battery are always behind in this work but they may look better on parade.

The canal has one big lock suitable for swimming; a lot of "jocks" were bathing there to-day. I ordered a bathing parade

for my section. Later I found that the swimming had livened three Germans, long submerged the bathing parade is off.

A Belgian battery commander has just wakened up and his shells are rattling overhead. From the fire trenches an incessant rattle of rifles is heard; all the bullets seem to come over here; constantly the whine of a musical ricochet bullet is heard. Otherwise things are dead quiet. It's getting on for three, so I'm going to bed in my blankets on one of the late chateau owner's splendid spring mattresses and carved oak bedstead. Oh! how nice it would be to sleep without lice. From an adjoining cellar my section are snoring, and I'm going to add to the chorus. Good-night, everybody.

We have been having Sunday "hate." Eight-inch crumps are once more busting "up" the chateau. How they must detest this place. My tea and bully beef are covered with dust of the last shell. You have no idea how terrible the shell-fire is.

First you hear the whistle and then a terrific burst which shakes the ground for a hundred yards around; when it clears away you find a hole ten feet across and six feet deep. At least fifteen have dropped around us in the last half hour.

This place is n't somewhere in France, it's somewhere in Hell! It has been the scene of a great many encounters; decayed French uniforms, old rifles, ammunition and leather equipment and bundles of mildewed tobacco leaves are strewn all over the place. I found the chin-strap of a German "Pickelhaube" in the grounds, the helmet of a French cuirassier, and the red pants of a Zouave, close together. When digging in the trenches or anywhere near the firing line you have to be careful: corpses, dead horses, and cattle are buried everywhere. building a trench to my emplacement and we have a stinking cow in the direct line; this will have to be buried before we can cut through.

I'm

Everybody is cheerful and going strong.