theirs, I suppose?"

Now it is as much as a Brigade-Major's job is worth to confess
ignorance at such a crisis. So, after sweeping the skies fruitlessly
with his glasses and listening intelligently to the steady drone, he
said, "Yes!" with as much conviction as possible.

"Heads down," said the General sharply, "and don't move. Pass it
down." And by way of example he sat heavily on my periscope and stayed
gazing at the ground like a fakir lost in meditation.

Meanwhile the message was passed along, and the trench became silent
as the grave. I was informed a few days later that it reached the
outer battalion of the next brigade later on in the morning, and was
popularly supposed to have reached Switzerland the same evening.

For about five minutes the droning continued ("Having a good look at
us," said the Brigade-major in a sepulchral whisper) and then suddenly
ceased with what I can only describe as an appalling snort. Almost
simultaneously a tousled head was thrust out of a dug-out almost
into the great man's face, and Gilbert's cheerful roar was heard by
a scandalised company.

"Had a topping sleep. What's the time, someone?"

* * * * *

"Best milch cows have been sold recently for £60 in the Isle
of Wight. At a meeting of the Cowes Council it was stated
that at Chichester cows had sold for £73 each."--_Times_.