ht and gazed far away over the waste
land towards the bank of low clouds in the eastern sky, my heart grew
sick at the thought of all which those fine young men might have to
endure before the crowning victory came. The thought of the near
presence of the Angel of Death was always coming up in the mind,
changing and transfiguring into something nobler and better our
earthly converse.

In the war, the Bible statement, "We have here no continuing city,"
was certainly true. Our happy life in Warlus and its neighbourhood
came to an end. On Friday, September 20th, the Division moved to (p. 302)
Achicourt near Arras. I took the opportunity to visit some friends in
the 3rd Division who were taking our places. Among them was "Charlie"
Stewart, of the P.P.C.L.I. I had taught him as a boy at school when I
was curate of St. John's, Montreal. We talked over old times, and the
great changes that had taken place in Canada and the world since we
were young. He was killed not long afterwards before Cambrai. I went
on through Dainville, where I met the 42nd Battalion, and reached
Achicourt in the evening. My billet was in a very dirty room over a
little shop. One corner of the house had been hit by a shell, and a
great store of possessions belonging to the people was piled up on one
side of my room. We knew we were not going to be there long, so we did
not worry about making ourselves comfortable. I had a view out of my
window of green fields and a peaceful country, but the town itself had
been badly knocked about.

On Sunday morning, I got the use of a small Protestant church which
stood by a stream in the middle of the town. It was a quaint place,
and, instead of an altar, against the east wall there was a high
pulpit entered by steps on both sides. When I stood up in it I felt
like a jack-in-the-box. I had a queer feeling that I was getting to
the end of things, and a note in my prayer-book, with the place and
date, gives evidence of this. We had not many communicants, but that
was the last Celebration of Holy Communion that I held in France. On
the following Sunday I was to leave the war for good. I remember
walking away from the church that day with my sergeant and talking
over the different places where we had held services. Now we were on
the eve of great events, and the old war days had gone forever. After
the service, I started off in my side-car on a missionary journey to
the battalions that had now gone forward. I went of