d to guard himself with the greatest care
lest some ungodly word should escape his lips. And so when any extra
cruelty in the shape of a red-hot piece of iron came too near, or a
heavy weight was dropped upon his toes, he used to cry, 'Praise the
Lord.' 'Old Praise the Lord' they called him, and truly he often had
sufficient reason for some such exclamation. He came to the Soldiers'
Fellowship Meeting one night, and told how he had been tested to the
limit. He had taken his money out of the Savings Bank, and locked it in
his box; but the box had been broken open, and the money taken away. He
stood and looked at it, hands clenched, teeth set. For a moment the fire
of anger flashed in his eyes, and words that belonged only to the long
ago sprang to his lips. A year's savings had gone. The promised trip to
the old home could not be taken. And a vision of the old mother waiting
for her boy, and waiting in vain, brought a big lump in his throat which
it was difficult to choke down. The lads stood and looked at him. What
would he do? And then that strange fire died out of his eyes, and his
hands relaxed their grasp, and with the light of love shining out from
his face he said, 'Praise the Lord,' and came into the meeting to tell
how God was flooding his soul with His love.

But the number of such as he in comparison with those who still pollute
the air with their oaths is small indeed, and we have sorrowfully to
admit that ours has been a swearing army upon the veldt.

Gambling, too, has been very rife, and if there was a penny to spin
Tommy would spin it. This, of course, is not by any means true of all
regiments, and as one of French's cavalry naively put it, 'You see, sir,
we had not even time to gamble!'

There are some brutes even among our British soldiers, and sad stories
reach us of men who have robbed the sick in hospital, and stripped the
dead upon the battlefield. But swearing and gambling apart, and these
horrible exceptions left out of the reckoning, what noble fellows our
soldiers have proved themselves!

=The Patience of our Soldiers.=

Their patience has been wonderful. We have all heard of the _patient_
ox, and away there on the veldt he has patiently toiled at his yoke
until he has laid down and died. But the patience of the private soldier
has exceeded the patience of the ox. He has undergone some of the
severest marches in history. He has endured privations such as we can
hardly imagine. He has lain