again asked if he were hurt. Bill's eyes rolled, his lips moved, and
then he blurted out, 'Oh, no, only my feelings!'

Bill is not a man to make a fuss about anything. He has no time for
red-tape in any shape or form, it is true, but whatever work is
assigned him is always done satisfactorily. Whether he is any less a
soldier or his efficiency as a fighting force impaired because of his
failure to meet the rigid requirements of an exacting military
regulation is a matter concerning which there might be a difference of
opinion; but this at least stands to his credit: he knows no fear, is
the life of the unit, and the battalion to which he belongs would
sustain a distinct loss by the removal of Bugler Bill, &c.




A TRAGEDY OF THE WAR


From strife they now march back to smiling farms,
Recoiling from the crash and smoke and roar.
Meadows, all verdant, faerie fields, whose charms
Serve for a space to make them as before.
And peaceful pictures of the days of yore,
With thrilling thoughts of those they left behind
Flash thro' the mental vision, and a score
Of letters brightly occupy the mind
Without a care, or woe, or doubt of any kind.

Anon they journey from this place of rest