ondemnation than that
practiced by musical critics in time of peace. But he only elicits an
encore. Private Nigg perches a steel helmet on the point of a bayonet,
and patronisingly bobs the same up and down above the parapet.

These steel helmets have not previously been introduced to the
reader's notice. They are modelled upon those worn in the French
Army--and bear about as much resemblance to the original pattern as a
Thames barge to a racing yacht. When first issued, they were greeted
with profound suspicion. Though undoubtedly serviceable,--they saved
many a crown from cracking round The Bluff the other day,--they were
undeniably heavy, and they were certainly not becoming to the peculiar
type of beauty rampant in "K(1)." On issue, then, their recipients
elected to regard the wearing of them as a peculiarly noxious form
of "fatigue." Private M'A. deposited his upon the parapet, like a
foundling on a doorstep, and departed stealthily round the nearest
traverse, to report his new headpiece "lost through the exigencies of
military service." Private M'B. wore his insecurely perched upon the
top of his tam-o'-shanter bonnet, where it looked like a very large
ostrich egg in a very small khaki nest. Private M'C. set his up on
a convenient post, and opened rapid fire upon it at a range of six
yards, surveying the resulting holes with the gloomy satisfaction of
the vindicated pessimist. Private M'D. removed the lining from his,
and performed his ablutions in the inverted crown.

"This," said Colonel Kemp, "will never do. We must start wearing the
dashed things ourselves."

And it was so. Next day, to the joy of the Battalion, their officers
appeared in the trenches selfconsciously wearing what looked like
small sky-blue wash-hand basins balanced upon their heads. But
discipline was excellent. No one even smiled. In fact, there was a
slight reaction in favour of the helmets. Conversations like the
following were overheard:--

"I'm tellin' you, Jimmy, the C.O. is no the man for tae mak' a show of
himself like that for naething. These tin bunnets must be some use.
Wull we pit oors on?"

"Awa' hame, and bile your held!" replied the unresponsive James.

"They'll no stop a whish-bang," conceded the apostle of progress, "but
they would keep off splunters, and a wheen bullets, and--and--"

"And the rain!" supplied Jimmy sarcastically.

This gibe suddenly roused the temper of the other participant in the
debate.

"I tell