eaks of the fastidious Scot's preoccupations. He
has two--to be able to shave and to have tea. "No danger," the Frenchman
declares, "deters them from their allegiance to the razor and the
teapot. At ----, in the department of the Nord, I heard a British officer
of high rank declare with delicious calm between two attacks on the
town: 'Gentlemen, it was nothing. Let's go and have tea.' Meanwhile his
men took advantage of the brief respite to crowd round the pump, where,
producing soap and strop, they proceeded to shave minutely and
conscientiously with little bits of broken glass serving as mirrors."

The same sense of order and method also struck another Frenchman, who
speaks of the "amazing Englishmen," who carry everything with them, and
are never in want of anything, not even of sleep!

Certainly there is much truth in these tributes to the British military
organization, but that is another story and for another chapter. The
opinion of an English cavalry officer, however, may be quoted as to the
relative merits of the French and English horses. "The French horses,"
he writes, "are awful. They look after them so badly. They all say,
'What lovely horses you have,' to us, and they do look fine beside
theirs, but we look after ours so well. We always dismount and feed them
on all occasions with hay and wheat found on the farms and in stacks in
the fields, also clover. The French never do."

As a result of these observations the French appear to have been
applying themselves to the study of the British fighting force. "I know
for a fact," says Trooper G. Douglas, "that French officers have been
moving amongst us studying our methods. The French Tommies try to copy
us a lot, and they like, when they have time, to stroll into our lines
for a chat or a game; but it's precious little time there is for that
now."

But it is in character and temperament that the chief differences of the
allies lie. "Brigadier" Mary Murray, who went to the front with other
members of the Salvation Army, records a conversation she had with a
French soldier over a cup of coffee. "Ah," he said, "we lose heavily, we
French. We haven't the patience of the English. They are fine and can
wait: we must rush!" And yet Tommy Atkins can do a bit of rushing too.
Private R. Duffy, of the Rifle Brigade, sends home a lively account of
the defense of the Marne in which a mixed force of British and French
was engaged. The object to be achieved was to drive ba