Magazine_
called the "Power House." As in the "Power House," the chief
villain is merely hinted at; he is only fully revealed in the
last page. Throughout the rest of the story he is one of those
genial, cheery old men who are always puffing cigars and drinking
whisky. The incidents take place in England and are connected
with a series of events that precipitated the present war. I
enjoyed the book and admired the ingenuity with which the plot is
worked out. The writing is vigorous and there is no sloppy
sentimentality.

_September 6th, 1916._

Yesterday my working party had orders suddenly to shift its
quarters to a spot farther up the line. Having struck camp we
started off about 2 P.M. in motor char-a-bancs and lorries. After
about two hours' plunging about in roads that were like quagmires
we arrived at our destination, a newly formed railhead, not far
from the battle line. It is situated on a sort of plateau. The
surrounding country is thick with guns. In the past twelve hours
there has been a terrific bombardment, the guns booming
incessantly. Even Loos, which wasn't so bad while it lasted,
pales into insignificance in comparison. At night the sky reminds
one of the Crystal Palace firework show in its palmiest days. It
is a fine place this from the point of view of health, being high
up and open to the fresh air and the sunshine. I am feeling
absolutely splendid both in health and spirits. It is a treat to
be up where things are happening.

_September 12th, 1916._

Pursuant to orders from the Division, I marched my party up to
join another working party that is engaged on duty whose scope
extends as far as the most recently gained ground. We are
quartered along with a lot of cavalry at a point in the area
captured, and are just in front of our big guns. The country all
around is a veritable abomination of desolation. Its surface is
intersected at innumerable points with ditches, in which much
splendid English blood has flowed. Here and there, looking very
forlorn, are stark and blasted stumps that used to be woods.
Above and around the ceaseless voice of the guns fills the air
with its clamour. Steel helmets and gas helmets are the standing
orde