A RED-LETTER day indeed—for the King turned up here at 10:45 this morning and stayed quite a long time, inspecting detachments of the Indian Army Corps. He only crossed from England last night I believe, stayed with the General for breakfast, and saw us all before lunch, going on to the next army corps. It was quite the most informal show I have ever seen. He strolled up and down the ranks chatting with all and sundry. He asked two of our native officers how long they had been in the regiment, the General interpreting.

The secret of his visit was well kept. Last night after dinner the Adjutant biked over from Headquarters and said he and I and —— had been chosen by lot from the officers, with thirty-three men from each of the three squadrons here, to represent the regiment at an inspection by the Commander in Chief. Well, we went off this morning, and found similar detachments from all the corps not in the trenches. It was a dull morning and the mud was awful, and just before his Majesty was due a German aeroplane appeared heading straight for us. Our guns opened fire on it and it made off north, but it added excitement. Otherwise it was a quiet morning and hardly any firing from the trenches. The King and Sir James arrived in the first car, then the Prince of Wales driving his own car, and a crowd of staff officers. The two divisional staffs were presented, and then they started walking down the lines. My new horse is a real good 'un, but can't stand "Present arms!" under his nose, and he nearly backed into his Majesty as he came up from behind.

The Leicesters were in front of us. They had only come up out of the trenches at midnight and were in a lovely state of mud and unshavedness. The King simply reveled in them. He stopped and chatted to quite every one man in three; wanted to know all about trench fighting, and didn't seem to mind a bit their being covered with mud and unshaved for days. The Prince was just as interested. He wandered about at will, paying no attention to his father, and chatting with all and sundry. One man was wearing a pair of German boots which interested the King very much. He spent quite twenty minutes with the Leicesters, and they deserved it. They have done splendidly all through.

After that he gave two V.C.s to gunners who had won them very early in the war, and then when he ought to have been moving on he began strolling up and down the line again, asking all sorts of questions and noticing everything. At last they got him into his car to move on to the next army corps. The General came back to give us his message. It was that he was very pleased with all he had seen and heard; that he wanted the troops to know that both he and the Queen always kept them in their thoughts, and that he meant to see all of them again, with his own eye, as soon as the war was over. The General gave it out very well, (he is fluent in Hindustani,) and it made a great impression on the men.

It was altogether a wonderful visit, so quiet and informal and businesslike; no apparent precautions or rehearsal; the King tramping about in the mud as though he were partridge shooting, while the Prince wandered about as he listed. My interpreter, a French-Canadian, was amazed.

A member of the London Scottish writes:

IN THE TRENCHES, Nov. 11.

This is our third day in the trenches. We have not had an attack yet, though there has been hard fighting on our immediate right and left. We are fairly safe here behind barbed wire entanglements, and this would be an easy job if one could get used to the row and the watching through the night, which is rather nerve-racking. This trench is in a bonnie fir wood, just like bonnie Scotland, but the shell fire has damaged nearly all the trees. Today, being windy, they are falling in all directions. We have not had a hot meal since we came here. We are not allowed to build fires, and it is impossible to get anything hot. We have lost our blankets again in the meantime. I am just going to have my lunch of "bully" and bread and plain water.

Nov. 18.

We have had a pretty rough time lately. Last night was the first for ten days that I have had a roof over my head. The weather has been atrocious—pouring rain and driving, cutting snow—but it did not get through my overcoat, which is richly caked with mud. We have had a fortnight's fighting and have marched back now from the firing line for a short rest to refit. It meant two days' marching through roads and fields ankle deep in clinging, porridgy mud, but we were all glad enough to put up with any hardship so long as we got away from the strain of flying shells and bullets. In the trenches we lost some more of our men, but not many. I just wish you could see our battalion now; what a change from the crowd that used to march through London. Every man, almost, has a beard, and you could not imagine the dirty, bedraggled crowd we are. The strain of watching through the night in the trenches is pretty awful. The nights were pitch black, and the rain came pouring down, making the trenches an awful mess. One chap gave a loud cry in his sleep. Thinking it came from the wood in front, I blazed away. We sent a burial party out in front of us one morning. There must have been hundreds of Germans lying there, with thousands further on. All we could do was just to cover them with earth. It was a horrible sight, and it is impossible for you folks at home to realize anything of the awfulness of this war. This awful pace surely cannot last long. But despite all the discomfort, I would not have liked to miss the chance of doing my part here.