enemy's dash seems checked. Their fire slackens. We hear their officers
swearing and yelling at their men in shrill, high-pitched, penetrating
voices. Joyful exaltation gives us a sort of fever. "Aim! Fire!" But the
bouches sales make another rush at us. Driven on by their infuriated
officers, they again reach our wire network. Our Captain commands, "Fire
at will." Then, "Fire at repetition, fire until the magazine is
exhausted." Just as the Germans, in wavering, hesitating groups,
presenting vague outlines, try to cut our networks they tumble over like
marionettes. Already some of our men, intoxicated with fury, stand up in
the trenches.

Our Captain commands, "En avant a la baionnette!" ("At them with
bayonet.") A fierce roar from our chests, and the only bugler left alive
in our company sounds the charge. Away we go with our bayonets. We
scarcely reach them when the bouches are put to rout. Some of them
escape helter-skelter, throwing down rifles and knapsacks. "Halt!"
commands our Captain. We lie down and keep up the firing on the
retreating remnants of the enemy. "Back to the trenches!" is the next
command. A few more volleys in the direction of the Germans, then comes
the command, "Cease firing. Take your haversacks, eat, and rest." All
becomes silent again except for the harrowing moans of the wounded. We
learn that the German assault has been repulsed all along the line.
Their losses must have been awful.

5 A.M.--Gray, misty dawn breaks from behind the orme trees. Soon we are
able to see what has happened. Over three hundred bouches are on the
ground in front of our company's trench, lying dead or wounded. Our
cooks with their soup pots get out of our hole and go to the rear to
prepare in the underground kitchens our well-earned coffee and cabbage
soup. Our Captain rubs his hands with satisfaction. A strong patrol goes
out of our trenches to reconnoitre the enemy's positions in the pine
wood. The rest of us try to get some sleep.

The Germans as Seen from a Convent

[From The London Times, Aug. 16, 1914.]

_Some interesting sidelights on the events of the past
fortnight in Belgium are provided by extracts from the diary
of a young English girl, Miss Lydia Evans, who has just
returned from a convent school at Fouron, near Vise. The
following are among the entries in this graphic narrative,
published in The Evening News:_

Aug. 2.--All the people of the village passed