By Amt B. Jacobs. "Yes; I've seen some awful sights on the battlefield," said the wounded hero from the Transvaal as he drained his glass and set tled himself in the centre of an admiring group of boon companions in the popular light of an entertainer. "Sights that at any other time, apart from the fever and excitement of war, would turn one sick with dread and horror. But tl>ere are phases in everyday life which are every bit as heart rending." Do you remember young Lieu tenant Greaves?" "Jack Greaves!" echoed one of the lis teners in some surprise. "Rather!" "He was wounded in the same campaign as yourself, wasn't he?" said another. "And came home by the same boat. What's be come of him is another thing." "Remember, old Jack was never so lo quacious as yourself,'' reproved a third. "He was always disposed to hide his light under a bushel instead of turning up on a club night without an arm, and quacking for hours about the loss of it. Well, what about Jack?"

The entertainer looked down ruefully at his empty coat sleeve and heaved a sigh. "Poor Jack," he said; "arms are not the only treasures one can lose. But there, if you have not heard of it, perhaps instead of listening to the blowing of my own trumpet you would like to hear his little story for a change." "Hear! hear!" said a chorus of healthy voices.
