The Washington herald., 1917-11-28

| Evidence of the exemplary spirit
which imbues sons Of Harvard Uni
| versity" is nowhere shown more typi-
cally or truly than by letters which
these students are sending back to
their friends and relatives from the
battlefields of France.
In the current issue Of The Harvard
Alumni Bulletin" there Is printed one
of these letters, which will long be
| remembered and cherished at this
educational institution, as 1t was only
received after the writer, W: H.
Meeker, II, Harvard Aviator, had met
death while in training at the School
of Military Aviation at Pau in
France. He died on September IL.
The letter, which is written TO Prof.
c. T. Copeland, follows:
August IS, 1917.
In my last letter I told you some
what of my rather uneventful cros-
sing. my trip to Paris and all its
pleasures, my arrival at Camp
Avord. and the start of my life there
as a soldier of the Legion" and an
''eleve pilo'e. Since then several
things have happened. You will
notice, first of all, by referring to my
handmade letterhead, that now bear
the imposing title of corporal" with
the degree of "kilote Aviateur' after
| my name. That means that I have
passed my brevet teste (on a Cauv>. on
airplane) and am enrolled on the list
of Frances soldiers as one of her
licensed military pilots. 1t means
also that 1 have been to Paris on
various ''permissions'' of forty-eight
hCurs each; that am in a position of
l'mOre or less authority and RESPONSE
| bility with regard to the 15o-odd
Americans at Avord; and, best of all,
| that I am now doing perfectionne
work on a Sieupirt, the fast
''Chasse" machine which I will soon
be flying at the front.
In about a week, after I have nm
| isned my perfectionne work here, go
to Pau for acrobacy, vol de group
lin battle formation), and machine gun
practice. then to Plessy-Belleville (near
my well-loved Paris) to await assign
ment to an escadrille, and then to
i war. My training days, in point of
time, If not experience, are almost
over, and I'm beginning to watch the
anti-aircraft guns at the artillery
camp nearby with considerable per-
sonal interest. 1 wonder how much
will duck when one Of the damned
Dutchman's shells comes flying around
my head.
I am writing this from the parlor OF
a little inn at Bougy. near our Nieu-
port poste, whittier Sam Skinner (you
knew him at Groton and in HarvardJ
and have repaired to pass the night.
\ The wooden cots in the barracks get
rather hard sometimes, and it is a
pleasure to sleep in real beds. At a
table nearby sit lieutenant of artil-
lery. the village postmaster, and the
landlord of the inn deeply engrossed
in a game Of piquet. I don't know
how to play and, besides, I wanted
to write to you.
The more I see Of France, the bet
ter I like 1t and its people. The
French are certainly wonderful In
their treatment OF US, almost en-
barrassing in their attentions. The
worst part of it Is their pathetic faitn
in the indomitable ability of America
TO stop the war at once, this horrible
war Of which they are all so terribly
tired. have talked with many end
varied people. high and low, poilus
| at the railroad stations, officers in
the trains, aviators at the CAMP
statesmen and journalists in Paris,