THE MOST IMPORTANT THING.

Lewis Gun Officer.—... So let me repeat and impress upon you, men, that the rifle is an effete weapon—extinct as the—what-you-call-it bird. It played its part, a good part, in the South African War, but we who observed what the machine gun did then and foretold its immense development [he was just nine years old at that time] knew that the rifle would soon be in the museums along with the bows and arrows. Pay attention, Private Jones. The Lewis Gun, the weapon of opportunity, is a platoon in itself. I don't know what the Government want to worry about men for. The Germans don't fill up their front trenches with a lot of soldiers to be killed with shrapnel. No, a machine gun every twenty or thirty yards is quite enough to hold any defensive line. So just bear these things in mind; and don't forget what we have learnt to-day. All right. Nine o'clock to-morrow.

II.

Physical Training Sergeant-Instructor.—Forward be—end. Ster—retch. Be—end. Ster—retch. Feet together—place. 'Ands—down. Stan—zee. Squad —'shun. Fingers straight, that man. Wotjer say? WOT? I can't 'elp wot the drill-sergeant tells yer. When I sez "'Shun" I want fingers straight down. On the command "Sitting—down" every man sits down tailor-fashion. Sitting—down. [This is the position in which Swedish drill squads hear words of wisdom.] Listen. An' look at me over there—not that I likes the look of yer—'as to put up with that, but when I torks I wants attention. Let me arsk yer this. Wot sort of men do we want in France? Why, fit men. 'Ow do yer get fit? I makes yer fit. 'Ow? Why, physical. Wot's the good of a bloke in the trenches if he's sick parade every bloomin' day? Arsk any of the serjents who is it wakes blokes up and makes 'em live men? Me. In about six weeks you will be able to run ten miles before brekfast in full marchin' order, carryin' 120 rounds, gettin' over six-foot walls and jumpin' eight-foot ditches. Don't look frightened, Private West. I 'ave seen weedier and uglier-lookin' blokes than you do it when I've done with 'em. One more thing....

III.

Musketry Officer.—... Therefore you see an infantry soldier has one weapon and one only—the rifle. You fellows will be out at the Front pretty soon. Now, if a man gets up the line, no matter how strong he is, how well drilled, if he can't use his rifle he might just as well not be there for all the good he is to his country. All the money that's been spent on his trainin', food, clothin'—absolutely wasted; might as well have been thrown into the sea. Why, the other day a party of our fellows were heavin' bombs at about twenty Bosches—threw hundreds; couldn't reach 'em. And one sniper went out and killed the lot in two minutes. And so ...

IV.

Sergeant-Instructor of Bayonet-Fighting.—On guard. Long point. Withdraw. On guard. Rest. Now, when I snap my fingers I want to see you come to the high port and get roun' me like lightning. Some of you men seem to be treatin' this bizness in a light-'earted way. We don't do this work to prevent you gettin' into mischief. Not much. Wotjer join the army for? To fight. Right. I shows yer how to fight. 'Ow many Fritzes jer think I've killed, by teachin' rookies the proper use of the baynit? This is the goods. 'Ow are we goin' to win this bloomin' war? With the rifle? No. With bombs? No. With machine guns? No. 'Ow then? By turnin' 'em out with the baynit. Cold steel. That's it. An' I'll show yer where to pop it in, me lads—three inches of it. That's all you want—three inches ... (For sheer bloodthirstiness there is no patter like that of the Bayonet Department.)

Bombing Officer.—Sit down. Smoke if you want to—and listen. My job is to teach you fellers all about what has turned out to be of the highest importance in this trench warfare, namely, bombs and grenades. This is a trench war; has been for three years. The nature of the fighting may alter, of course. We all hope it will. But we must think of trenches at the moment. Now, the German is a clever feller, and he soon saw that you'd never kill off the enemy if you just sat down behind a parapet with a rifle in your hand. So he started inventing and developing these things. But we're catching him up. We've caught him up. Now, this is a Mills ...

VI.

The Adjutant (after two hours' extended order drill and attack practice).—Just sit down. Close in a bit. Light your pipes if you wish. Let me tell you that the sort of work we've been doing this afternoon is the only way we're ever going to finish off the Hun—absolutely. You can never win a war by squatting down in a hole and lookin' at the other fellow. No, open fighting—that's what the new armies have got to learn. I fear it's been badly neglected; but not in this battalion. Now, with regard to the screen of skirmishers, I want ...

VII.

Drill Sergeant.—On 'er left, form—squad. For—erd, by the ri.' Mark—time. For—erd. Wake up, Thomson; we don't want no blinkin' dreamers in the Army. Pick up the step there, Number Three, fron' rank. 'Ep, ri'; 'ep, ri'; 'ep, ri. Sker-wad—'alt. Stan' still. 'Alt means 'alt. No movin' at all; just 'alt. Right—dress. Eyes—front. 'Swer. Eyes—front. Stanat—'ipe. 'Swer. Stanat—'ipe. Stan' easy. Now listen to me, me lads. The chiefest dooty of a soljer is O-bedience. Drill an' discipline is 'ow you gets that. Stop chewin, 'Arris. You'll be losin' your name again, me lad. Don't pay to lose your name twice—not in this regiment it don't. You'll learn a deal of other stuff 'ere; but take it from me it's the barrick-square work wot makes a soljer. Wot is a soljer? Why, a drilled man. 'Ow jer think I 'ave turned some 'undreds of blankety militiamen into the real thing? If a bloke can't stan' still on parade I don't want to hear about his doin's on the range or 'ow he can chuck a Mills. Sker-wad—'shun. Dis—miss. 'Swer. No call to go salootin' me, Private McKenzie. I ain't an orficer—yet. Dis—miss.

Private Jones (young and keen, and a trifle confused).—Good 'evins, Bill; they carn't all be bloomin' well right, can they?

Lance-Corporal Smith.—No, boy. It's the 'appy mejium we gets wiv 'em all, yer see. That's it—the happy mejium.

Sentry. "HALT! WHO GOES THERE?"

Officer. "VISITING ROUNDS."

Sentry. "ADVANCE ONE AND RECOGNISE YERSELF."