men were
saved; two of the men are severely and two slightly injured. It is thought
there was no loss of life."--[Photo. by L.N.A.]

The English writer of one of the many war-books now before the
public--"The German Army From Within," by one who has served in it as an
officer, tells us that he calculates one of our "Tommies" to be at least
equal to three "Hans Wursts"; and when the personal equation is taken into
account--the value of individual character and initiative--the estimate
will not seem to be exaggerated. In fact, it has been proved to be correct
by the opinion of all our best judges in the field itself, as well as by
the results of the fighting when the odds against us have been invariably
three to one, in spite of which we have always managed, not only to
maintain our ground, but also to encroach on that of our antagonists.

Hence it follows that a so-called "Kitchener" army of a million men ought
to have for us a military value of at least three millions as against the
Germans--the more so since their best first-line troops have already been
used up, and replaced with beardless boys and most corpulent greybeards.
This is not a fanciful description; it corresponds with the reports sent
home by "Eye-Witness" at Headquarters and other reliable observers; while
there is an absolute consensus of statement that our soldiers enjoy a
commissariat system which is at once the admiration of their French
friends and the sheer envy and despair of their German foes. The fact
alone that our men are better found and better fed than the enemy gives
them an advantage over and above their three-to-one equivalent of the
individual kind.

[Continued overleaf.

__________________________________________________________________________
THE ILLUSTRATED WAR NEWS, NOV. 18, 1914--7

[Illustration: A WAIST-DEEP SHELL-HOLE IN A BELGIAN STREET: IN A
WAR-WRECKED WEST FLANDERS TOWNSHIP.]

The devastating effect of shell-fire on human habitations is brought out
with appealing effect by the photograph which we give above of the scene
in one of the ill-fated Belgian townships on the frontier of West
Flanders. Wrecked and ruined houses with their walls leaning over and
tottering, about to fall in ruin, and the heaps of littered debris in the
street tell a fearful tale of what the havoc from a bombardment by heavy
pr