It is but a few months since I made the acquaintance of the late 2nd-Lieut. Harry H Jacobs. Young Jacobs came to the boarding house at Hove to join his parents (who are temporarily residing there) having just passed his examination for a commission. He had previously served as a private and then as a sergeant for two years in France. He had taken part in some daring raids, his battalion bringing in on one occasion 400 prisoners. In this raid his hands were lacerated by barbed wire. On another occasion he had brought in five wounded men from No Man’s Land under heavy fire. He had grown accustomed to the horrors of war, but nothing damped his buoyant spirits. Cheerfulness held sway from the moment he entered the room. No one escaped his good-humoured banter or quick returns. Addressing him as “Haig” one morning, I told him I was not satisfied with the way things are going at the Front. “Don’t be impatient,” said he “the fellows I left out there are doing their best, but when I get over, you will see a big change.” Alas, I have seen a big change. In one short fortnight came the fatal telegram: “Killed on Outpost duty.” I saw the eyes that had been lit up with love and pride at his presence filled with helpless despair and overwhelming grief. I saw a house full of visitors with no closer acquaintance than I could claim, gloomy and sad because Harry, gay, light, Harry was no more. May almighty God give the solace and comfort that no man can offer, to those who mourn his loss.