art.
Seizing the German's horse as he fell, he exchanged it for his own which
had got badly damaged. Then, his sword sheathed like lightning, he swung
round and shot a German clean through the head and silenced him
forever."

The soldiers' letters throb with such stories, and the swiftness, vigor,
and power of expression revealed in them is astonishing. Most of them
were written under withering fire, some scribbled even when in the
saddle, or when the writers were in a state of utter exhaustion at the
end of a nerve-shattering day. "'Hell with the lid off' describes what
we are going through," one of the 12th Lancers says of it. But the men
never lose spirit. Even after eighteen or nineteen hours in the saddle
they still have a kindly, cheering message to write home, and a jocular
metaphor to hit off the situation. "We are going on all right,"
concludes Corporal G.W. Cooper, 16th Lancers; "but still it isn't
exactly what you'd call playing billiards at the club."

VI

WITH THE HIGHLANDERS

The Highlanders have been great favorites in France. Their gaiety, humor
and inexhaustible spirits under the most trying conditions have
captivated everybody. Through the villages on their route these brawny
fellows march with their pipers to the proud lilt of "The Barren Rocks
of Aden" and "The Cock o' the North," fine marching tunes that in turn
give place to the regimental voices while the pipers are recovering
their breath. "It's a long way to Inveraray" is the Scotch variant of
the new army song, but the Scots have not altogether abandoned their own
marching airs, and it is a stirring thing to hear the chorus of "The
Nut-Brown Maiden," for instance, sung in the Gaelic tongue as these
kilted soldiers swing forward on the long white roads of France.

A charming little letter published in _The Times_ tells how the
Highlanders and their pipers turned Melun into a "little Scotland" for
a week, and the enthusiastic writer contributes some verses for a
suggested new reel, of which the following have a sly allusion to the
Kaiser's order for the extermination of General French's "contemptible
little army":

"What! Wad ye stop the pipers?
Nay, 'tis ower soon!
Dance, since ye're dancing, William,
Dance, ye puir loon!
Dance till ye're dizzy, William,
Dance till ye swoon!
Dance till ye're deid, my laddie!
We play the tune!"

This is all quite in the spirit of the Highland soldiers.