WAR MEMORIES

THERE is some fitness to-day in recalling memories of the Crimean War. It stands out in my memory with special vividness, not only because it was the first European war of my lifetime, but because I had kinsmen who fought in it and who were associated more or less closely with its vicissitudes.

I shall never forget the day when as lads we stood behind the railings of St. Nicholas' Church and saw the troops marching by on their way to embark. The old tunes and songs of that day sometimes ring in my brain. I think that "The girl I left behind me" and "Three cheers for the Red, White and Blue" were among the most popular.

I remember how, a little later, when we were in Ireland, we bade good-bye to my cousin, William Boyd, who was going to join the Scots Greys. He, poor fellow, never came back he was one of the cholera victims. Talking of cholera, I recall a story told me by Lord Strafford, when he was Colonel Byng. I often met him at Windsor, and the tale he told was one of the most curious I have ever heard.

It was during the terrible Crimean campaign, when cholera and disease were working havoc among our troops.

One day it was reported that a certain officer was dead-a victim of cholera. The same evening, when a few brother officers were gathered, the conversation turned on the dead man. He was senior in years to many of the officers; he was one of those men who had retired from active service, but who, on the outbreak of the war, had offered to fight for his country he joined the regiment as what would to-day be called a "dugout." It had been a question among the younger officers whether the Major (I think that was his rank) wore a wig; and now, as the little brotherhood of officers gossiped in the tent, they reverted to the question of the wig: Did the Major wear a wig? "Well," said one, "we can settle that now by going and looking." The regimental doctor was present; he had given the certificate that the Major had died of cholera, and he was ready to go with the party to the mortuary. A doctor attached to another regiment accompanied them on their expedition of investigation. They entered the mortuary: there lay the cold, impassive form of the Major who had challenged their curiosity. As they were looking, the doctor from the other regiment exclaimed, "That man is not dead." The regimental doctor differed. "The question is easily tested," said the other doctor. The test was applied: a slight prick and the blood began to flow. The man was not dead. It was a case of cholera trance. Restoration measures were taken

and the Major's life was saved. Those who love to mark the part which little things play in the drama of life will reflect that in this case the Major owed his life to the legend of the wig. We have heard of a man's life hanging on a hair, but never before of its hanging on a wig.