een
Past horrors thro' the night and _did not dream_.
For many days she'll, silent, strive to bear
Such human wreckage down a path once fair.

G.P. CUTTRISS and J.W. HOOD.

[Illustration: The illustrator feeling happy, yet looking 'board.']

[Illustration]

BILL THE BUGLER

I well remember when the subject of this sketch 'joined up.' He was
small of stature, and his general appearance was by no means
prepossessing. That he had seen a good deal of the world was very
evident, even to the most superficial observer. His language was
picturesque, though not profane. A few weeks sufficed to 'lick him
into shape,' and he presented a fairly tolerable figure in uniform. At
spinning yarns he was an adept, and at camp concerts could invariably
be depended upon for an item or two, always of a humorous nature.

Bill quickly established himself amongst the 'boys' as a general
favourite. This enviable position he still occupies. On account of
his duties as bugler requiring him to be one of the first up in the
morning, and one of the last to retire at night, he sought a change of
duty. He became a bandsman, then a stretcher-bearer, and eventually
was detailed to assist in a cook-house--in cook-house terminology an
'off-sider.'

Though Bill had as much military experience as most of us, we could
not think of him as a soldier. That our opinion of him was justified
the following incident will illustrate. A party of officers, including
a staff-major, was inspecting cooking and billeting arrangements in
our quarters. Bill, who happened to have a couple of hours off that
day, was strolling towards the party. He was in cook-house
attire--tunicless, his hat well back on his head, shirt-sleeves rolled
to the elbow, hands deep in his breeches pockets, a cigarette between
his lips. Regardless of the critical eyes which were focused upon him,
he sauntered leisurely towards the officers, and when in line with
them he nodded and said 'Good-day.' The officers stopped, and one of
them peremptorily inquired, 'Aren't you a soldier?' 'Oh, no,' he
replied; 'I'm D Company's cook!' His reply so amused the officers that
he was allowed to continue on his way without being reminded that as a
soldier he was required to salute all officers.

After spending a few weeks in the cook-house, he asked permission to
go to the trenches when the battalion went into the line. The transfer
was effected, and he made a start with real soldier