oncerned only with the small number of men who
make a profession of religion; that he is neither a member of the
upper, officer, class, nor a mild admirer of the goody-goody,
but--shall we say?--a friend of publicans and sinners.

It is a confusing question, this one of the religion of the soldier,
who is nowadays the ordinary man, and his relation to the Church or
the churches. But we do get a glimpse of his mind when we understand
how he thinks of the clergy. He knows them better out in France than
he ever did at home, and they know him better. He has recognised the
"---- parson" as a padre and a good sport. That is something. Will
the padre, before this abominable war is over and his opportunity
past, be able to establish his position as something more, as perhaps
the minister and steward of God's mysteries?

CHAPTER XIX

CITIZEN SOLDIERS

I stood, with my friend M. beside me, on the top of a hill and looked
down at a large camp spread out along the valley beneath us. It was
growing dark. The lines of lights along the roads shone bright and
clear. Lights twinkled from the windows of busy orderly-rooms and
offices. Lights shone, browny red, through the canvas of the tents.
The noise of thousands of men, talking, laughing, singing, rose to
us, a confused murmur of sound. As we stood there, looking,
listening, a bugle sounded from one corner of the great camp, blowing
the "Last Post." One after another, from all directions, many bugles
took up the sound. Lights were extinguished. Silence followed by
degrees. We scrambled down a steep path to our quarters.

"This," I said, "is not an army. It is an empire in arms."

M. would never have made a remark of that kind. He has too much
common sense to allow himself to talk big. He is, of all men known to
me, least inclined to sentimentality. He did not even answer me. If
he had he would probably have pointed out to me that I was wrong.
What lay below us, a small part of the B.E.F., was an army, if
discipline, skill, valour, and unity are what distinguish an army
from a mob.

Yet what I said meant something. I had seen enough of the
professional soldiers of the old army, officers and N.C.O.'s, to know
that the men who are now fighting are soldiers with a difference.
They do not conform to the type which we knew as the soldier type
before the war. Neither officers nor men are the same. Only in the
cavalry, and perhaps in the Guards, do we now find the spirit, or,