going up to Germany; the Division entrains the first of next week." Crash go all the inflated hopes; the M. P., aggressively cheerful, warms his hands at the fire and beams on the dejected group. Sundry Aery spirits contemplate murder,—"justifiable homicide," surely. A moment later in rushes an excited youth with still another rumor.

                "The Ambulance companies have turned in their ambulances and the Ammunition Train are going to get rid of their trucks," is his news. Up go the spirits again, undaunted even by the pessimistic opinion of a "joy killer." "Well, they won't need ambulances or motor-trucks in the Army of Occupation." And so it goes, up and down, from joy to gloom.

                Mid-afternoon, bright and sunny; we are cleaning equipment in the gun-park. The rumors happen to be good, a week's sojourn in Ville-devant-Belrain being the latest, and everyone is in good spirits. Suddenly the peaceful air is shattered by the top-se geant's whistle; "We move in half an hour." We hastily and profanely pack up and soon form in column of squads on the road. Everyone carries a pack, save the lucky few, detailed to drive the heavy wagons.

                At last we start, wondering why we didn't salvage that extra blanket for the sake of a lighter pack. The sun sets, the stars come out, hesitatingly, the moon rises, and still on we go. What a crime! A night hike, a relic of the dark ages when the Hun was still on the rampage! Who is responsible for this? "Don't those birds know that the war is over?" groans a cannoneer as he shifts his pack from one aching shoulder to the other. "No," is the immediate

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