the fire of the opposing batteries, he is yet never allowed
to get a glimpse of the enemy. Exposed to all the dangers of war,
but with none of its enthusiasm or splendid elan, he is condemned to sit
like an animal in its burrow, and hear the shells whistle over his head,
and take their little daily toll from his comrades.

The winter morning dawns with grey skies and the hoar frost on the fields.
His feet are numb, his canteen frozen, but he is not allowed to make a fire.
The winter night falls, with its prospect of sentry-duty,
and the continual apprehension of the hurried call to arms; he is not
even permitted to light a candle, but must fold himself in his blanket
and lie down cramped in the dirty straw to sleep as best he may.
How different from the popular notion of the evening campfire,
the songs and good cheer.
==

Of the commissariat arrangements he gives, on the whole, a very good account;
but he admits that "to supplement the regular rations with luxuries
such as butter, cheese, preserves, & especially chocolate,
is a matter that occupies more of the young soldier's thoughts
than the invisible enemy. Our corporal told us the other day
that there wasn't a man in the squad that wouldn't exchange his rifle
for a jar of jam." But "though modern warfare allows us to think
more about eating than fighting, still we do not actually forget
that we are in a battle line."

==
Ever over our heads goes on the precise and scientific struggle
of the artillery. Packed elbow to elbow in these obscure galleries,
one might be content to squat all day long, auditor of the magnificent