ugh to take the muzzle of the rifle. It also
allows enough space for the sniper to see through, and, with the aid of
the periscope, held usually by a comrade at his side, he is able to get
the sight for his firing.

A TRAVERSE.

[Illustration: A TRAVERSE.]

Here is a "traverse" in a trench. The sergeant is reading the orders of
the day to one of his men. This was a very damp corner--on the top of
the dug-out to the left tunics were hanging to dry in the early morning
air. The soldier still has on his sleeping cap (like the figure in the
last picture); his mess-tin is by his side, and his rifle, encased in a
waterproof cover. He is sitting on the firing platform, and the depth of
the trench is noticeable, showing how low the men are in the ground. The
sandbags shown it took us four hours one night to place in position. As
fast as we put them up they were shot down again by the enemy's maxim
fire. We were all so tired and sleepy that, working on automatically, we
hardly knew whether we were putting the mud in the sandbags or outside
them.

It was not only the dampness and the incessant maxim fire we had to
contend with here, but an army of insects, which jumped about us in
battalions, and saw to it we were never lonely. A Cockney member of our
company, after catching a particularly active jumper, called out: "Now
then, you blighter, where is your respirator?"

The enemy were only thirty yards away, and we could often hear them
shouting at us and would answer back. Many of our men were hit by
snipers, while the shelling was often terrific, but we stuck on, as
we were holding a part of an important military position. I remember how
on an occasion when the shelling was very heavy one man engaged himself
in making soup as coolly as if nothing was happening until the earth
knocked up by the shells began to drop into the mess-tin, when he gave
us his opinion of the Boches in his own forcible vernacular. We often
laid for hours at the bottom of the trench--flat on the ground in the
water and mud to escape the shells.

THE BIRTH-PLACE OF A SONG.

[Illustration: THE BIRTH-PLACE OF A SONG.]

The third bit of trench of this chapter has a claim to fame as the
birth-place of a song. The song was one which only British soldiers
could have concocted, and none but British soldiers would have sung. It
had no known author and no known composer. It sort of "growed," like
Topsy. If it had had a title given to it I suppose it wo