tention paid to politics. At home in Canada they were warring
in Parliament over giving the soldiers the vote. In the trenches no
one cared. What did it matter to a man who was appointed pound-keeper
or member of Parliament, at home in Canada, if to-morrow a shell
should take his own head off. The petty affairs and jealousies that
affect politicians at home and give them spasms and sleepless nights
do not interest the man who sleeps on his arms in a dugout with the
thunder of cannon shaking down the clay on his face. Religious
controversies are also forgotten. The men of this war are not inspired
with religious enthusiasm like the men of Cromwell's time or the
Japanese and Russians. There is religion of a deeper kind. The Bible
is constantly in evidence. The Protestant and the Roman Catholic sleep
side by side in the consecrated ground of Flanders. Both deserve the
brightest and best Heaven there is, for they were all heroes and gave
their lives for the cause of justice and humanity. In the church yard
at Estaires, close by the wonderful church steeple which no German
shell had so far been able to find, they buried the dead heroes of
Neuve Chapelle in long trenches, three and four deep, with the
officers who fell at the head of the mounds. In the corner of every
farmyard and orchard you will find crosses marking graves, black for
the Germans, and white for our soldiers.

In the presence of constant death, of wounds and anguish, it is
wonderful the spirit that pervaded our men. They were reconciled with
death and, often when I took a wounded Canadian by the hand and
expressed regret that he was hurt and suffering the answer always was,
"Its all right, Colonel, that's what I came here for." We all realized
what we were fighting for, and the destruction wrought upon the poor
Belgians has been so great that we all felt if we had a hundred lives
we would cheerfully give them to rescue stricken Belgium and aid brave
unconquerable France.

The Canadians that survive this war and return home will have a higher
viewpoint, and there will be very few reckless drunken men among them.
The "rough-neck" swearing soldier has found no place in this war.

With our brigade was Canon Scott of Quebec, an Anglican clergyman with
a stout heart and a turn for poetry. He never tired of going about the
billets among the men. There was no braver man in the division and his
influence was splendid. Everybody loved him, and he was an ornament to