In one of the leading British weeklies there appeared a series of comments
reflecting rather seriously on our discipline. One of the most humorous yet
caustic, it seemed to me, was of an English soldier on guard at a post just
outside of London. His instructions were to stop all who approached. In the
darkness it was impossible for him to distinguish one person from another.
Before long he heard footsteps coming toward him:

"Halt! Who goes there?" demanded the sentry.

"The Irish Fusiliers," was the answer.

"Pass, Irish Fusiliers; all's well."

Before long some more steps sounded....

"Halt! Who goes there?"

"The London Regiment."

"Pass, Londons; all's well."

"Halt! Who goes there?"

"Hic ... mind your own damn business...."

"Pass, Canadians; all's well."

At a parade, one bright November morning, when we were at Salisbury, a
certain brigadier-general from Ontario, since killed in action, while
reviewing the soldiers of a particular battalion, made a unique speech to