Gilpin observer., 1918-09-12
Not What Yanks Are Accustomed
to at Home.
TYPICAL SUNDAY DESCRIBED
Former insurance Man Conducts Re-
ligious Services and Later In the
Day Referees Boxing Mateh-De-
eency and Wholesomeness Of
Young Americans impresses New
eomer-Mothers Would Be Proud
Of Them.
By MAMMALIAN FOSTER.

LuSllOutu kluu WOuNu De Dlt puZ-
zled, no doubt, If he were to see the
way the American army in France
observes the Sabbath day. Sundays
over here are not the same sort one
is accustomed to at home. Even the
most religious among our fighting meR
have widened their views regarding
the Sabbath.
Understand now, this does not
mean that our boys have grown un-
godly. 1t is the very opposite rath-
er. The first thing that impresses
the newcomer, in spite Of what he
may have heard at home, is the strik-
ing decency and wholesomeness Of
this host of young Americans. France,
in fact, has marveled at our soldiers
self-restraint; for no matter what his
tory has to say of other great bod
les Of armed men, our boys have Con-
Quoted themselves in way to make
their mothers proud. So, even
though it be said that their attitude
toward Sunday has altered, this does
not mean-far from. it, indeed-that
it has altered for the worse. 1t
means merely that among them Sun
day is not devoted entirely to re-
ligious observances. Here. If you
like, Ia a picture Of one Sabbath In
France. ae~4
The place Is up in the Lunevllle
sector. That Sunday the sun was
shining. glowing down with dazzling
radiance on the Towering fields and
hills behind the lines. Out in front,
q bare three kilometers away, was
the ugly, Scared zigzag Of the 'front.'
line trenches, the one blemish on the
landscape as far as the eye could
see. -
Insurance Man Leads.
Near by, the little town, hardly
more than village, and now bat
tered by the Huns bombs and shells,
lay peaceable and quiet in the morn
ing air. Presently one heard a.
burst Of song, that good old hymn,
"Rock Of Ages, Cleft for Me-" It
rose on the quiet air. propelled from a
hundred or more sturdy lungs. The
source of 1t was a Y. NJ. G. A. field
hut, now tenanting what once had
been blowsy drinking place. In
side morning services were going on.
The leader of the services was a
former Buffalo IN. " real estate
and insurance man. He was not
preacher, he never had been one, but
the war had imposed on him this
new duty. The services were brief.
but they were earnest.
After they had finished 1t the e1-
tempore pastor gave them little talk.
There was nothing SNUG about 1t.
nothing mealy-mouthed. 1t was Just
a bing-bang sort Of an allocution such
as might have been heard In an ath-
letic field dressing room between the
two halves Of varsity football
match.
Afterward the amateur pastor gave
them his benediction, a sort Of
"Here's luck, fellows" valedIctory. A
moment later one saw the Insurance
man, relieved from his spiritual du-
ties, dispensing chocolate, chewing
gum and cigarettes at the Sther end
Of the hut.
services. At one o'clock the insur-
ance man was at It again
His chapel now had moved from
the former buvette to a bigger. more
cOmmodious temple-nature's world
Of out-of-doors. The insurance mans
talk was homely bit about the
Holy Writ. But the boys-there
were SO of them now@listened with
silent interest. "Get h?" inquired
the insurance man. Yes; they got 1t.
The ut" was something about an
other preacher who went upon a
mountain, and what he said to null
titude.
Just Innocent Fun.
At two o'clock the 'Y" man was
back in his hut. The hut, by then,
had begun to fll. Presently the "Y"
man, with a grin. called the place to
order.
''The first event on the program"
he announced. twill be a four-round
bout, Spike Anderson versus Bat
tling BIZ Roberts. Shake hands.
First roundl Timei"
A trio Of buck and wing dancers
followed, after which there was a
song, very topical one. Then a
recitation. "Old Ironsides at Anchor
Lay" The hit Of the occasion.
though. was real, simon-pure glass;
eater, young private from a neigh
boring unit.
So, for three hours passed the Sun
day afternoon. A queer Sabbath
some will say; yet whnt Of IT. One
was certain Of Its innocence.
That night, when the writer wa3
on his way back through the town,
there rose from within "Y" hut a
rousing chorus Of voices. They
were young, fresh, hearty voices. and
what they sang was "The Son of
God Goes Forth to War"
~ flushed Sunday In France.