was a
theological student from Ontario. I found afterwards that it is unwise
to select batmen for their piety. Stephenson was a failure as a
batman. When some duty had been neglected by him and I was on the
point of giving vent to that spirit of turbulent anger, which I soon
found was one of the natural and necessary equipments of an officer,
he would say, "Would you like me to recite Browning's 'Prospice'?"
What could the enraged Saul do on such occasions but forgive, throw
down the javelin and listen to the music of the harping David? (p. 019)
Stephenson was with me till I left Salisbury Plain for France. He
nearly exterminated me once by setting a stone water-bottle to heat on
my stove without unscrewing the stopper. I arrived in my tent quite
late and seeing the thing on the stove quickly unscrewed it. The steam
blew out with terrific force and filled the tent. A moment or two more
and the bottle would have burst with disastrous consequences. When I
told Stephenson of the enormity of his offence and that he might have
been the cause of my death, and would have sent me to the grave
covered with dishonour for having been killed by the bursting of a hot
water-bottle--an unworthy end for one about to enter the greatest war
the world has ever known--he only smiled faintly and asked me if I
should like to hear him recite a poem.

News from overseas continued to be bad. Day after day brought us
tidings of the German advance. The martial spirits amongst us were
always afraid to hear that the war would be over before we got to
England. I, but did not tell the people so, was afraid it wouldn't. I
must confess I did not see in those days how a British force composed
of men from farms, factories, offices and universities could get
together in time to meet and overthrow the trained legions of Germany.
It was certainly a period of anxious thought and deep foreboding, but
I felt that I belonged to a race that has never been conquered. Above
all, right and, therefore, God was on our side.

The scenery around Valcartier is very beautiful. It was a joy now and
then to get a horse and ride away from the camp to where the Jacques
Cartier river comes down from the mountains, and to dream of the old
days when the world was at peace and we could enjoy the lovely
prospects of nature, without the anxious care that now gnawed at our
hearts. The place had been a favorite haunt of mine in the days gone
by, when I used to take a book of p