Bisbee daily review., 1915-07-21

In Nine Ms a Scotch clergyman named McCleoch. !. a splendid man, a tender broadminded Christian whom we are very proud of) and his assistants have the counter ready, and we start buttering bread and getting tea and coffee ready. then at twelve the doors open and the men pour in, We lay off at p. m and again return from 4.3O till S:3O. This last is the hardest and busiest time of the day. The big urns go all the time baskets Of clean cups and saucers are. constantly needed, the tables all through the hut are crowded with men playing checkers, chess, dominoes, writing letters and, or course. smok-. ing They are great letter writers, and thousands of women should be grateful Co the Y. M C. A., because it| is owing to the facilities for writing given in our huts that the men can SO easily write home, some men l know write every day.
 We have flowers on au the tables and this is greatly appreciated, and must be a welcome sight indeed on re- turn from the horrors and privations of the trenches.
 "The men are always treating one another l notice after having worked in several huts that there is most treating among the Scotch, even if they do price everything carefully first
 Then we have another hut for ser vice which is as large as the first, and separated from it by a passage Here is concert platform with a piano whose keys are black from use and here the men play and sing every evening and during the day l am supposed Co sing at a different hut each night but my throat has not been well enough lately The effort was too much. the men call for en- cores and other songs. and the smoke and strain was too great with the oth- CT work. To return to the "Tommies" they love songs with choruses, and also sentimental songs such as "The Rosary" for instance. In our hut the men naturally call for Scotch songs, and at first l was nervous when l had to face some hundreds of Scotchmeu and sing them their native melodies, but it was worth it when one man came and told me that his pal. who came from Loch Lomond had putt his held down and cried" when | sang it.
 But it is not all work to my story. As | write to you today l look out of my window over the tree tops into garden two hundred years old. dream of peace and beauty with state ly rows of standard roses and masses of old fashioned flowers, and away in the distance lying at the foot of the hill on the plain through which the Seine wanders a silver streak, is Rou- en-
 When l came over from Havre. Mrs. McGowen the wife of our head organizer in France, invited me to be- come a pensionnaire with her here in this lovely old house which stands on very steep hill called AUX Mort du Maladin." just outside Rouen. Madame Rebard, whose tenants we are, is the widow of an old French officer who died soon after the com | mencement of the war. She is a great character. and we enable her to keep her beautiful old house. think we also help to keep her from | thinking of her loss. She is a dear | old dame who rejoices in two wigs, an everyday one and a best one We l like the everday one best, for the oth- CT means she is going out visiting, and she is always little sarcastic on | those occasions.
 In the mornings after breakfast we write letters or practice our songs in the large summer house at the end l of the garden About II a. m we start in the tram down the hill which | is SO steep it has to be worked (the tramg not the hill) by two men. All l the ticket collectors are women. We | get home from two to three and have | luncheon in the garden beautifully cooked by Madame, who chatters a. way to us while we eat. Then back to our work again, always the same yet never two days alike, and always at the end of the day there is thank fitness for having at least endeavored to bring a little cheerfulness in these days when SO much of heartbreak and | eufforfno fe i'm fba land