emen.

A Top-man honoured our mess the other night. Under the mellowing
influence of our Curried Bully he unbent somewhat and encouraged the
Ancient on his pet subject. Under the influence of the latter's theories
he unbent still further. He discoursed upon the true inwardness of the
military method of running an office, pausing at last for the Ancient to
say a few words. "Oh," said he, "I don't allow myself to be put off by a
trifle like that. There's many a kind heart behind a Buff slip, and we
all have our little weaknesses." The idea of having a little weakness
was so novel to the Top-man that it caused him to choke and to be led
from the mess, eventually, in a state of nervous exhaustion.

The latest information from the trenches goes to support the maxim that
all one requires to wage war is a bold face and a gas helmet. A very
distinguished O.C. went up the other day to inspect the trenches of his
command and to express such views of their faults and the faults of
their inmates as might occur to him from time to time. He had progressed
some way up the communication trench, when it struck him that, whereas
his recent order had been particularly menacing to everyone of whatever
rank who was discovered there or thereabouts without a gas helmet,
nevertheless he himself was at that moment innocent of such furniture.
Fortunately there came from the opposite direction an odds-and-end
private, with nothing in his favour except the wearing of the well-known
satchel so much in vogue in Flanders society for the carrying of gas
helmets. That was enough for the Commander; this was essentially one of
those privates to be called "My man," and treated as such. Politely but
firmly he was requested to part with his satchel as a temporary loan to
his General. Firmly, if respectfully, he refused to comply. Them was his
orders. The Commander congratulated him on his very proper attitude,
explained to him the nature of the higher commands and demanded the
satchel. The man looked like being stony about it, but the Commander
became irresistibly commanding and got the satchel at last. He buckled
it on, and the party proceeded, characterising the reluctance of the
private to part with his treasure as almost an exaggerated sense of
obedience to printed orders.

Gas helmets always exercise a peculiar fascination for people who
inspect trenches, and the matter was now especially prominent in the
mind of the Commander as he marched along, ou