New-York tribune., 1918-06-25
War as Usual
By Chester M. Wright
Mission Great
(Second Instalment
By Chester M. Wright

There's bond that's deeper than language,
and that surmounts language. Somewhere
underneath uniforms and their talk they're
the same kind of boys. That's the only
way can figure it out"
In an Edinburgh audience there sat man
with black mask. The mask ran from
forehead to chin, from jawbone to jawbone.
The convex of his face had given way to
concave-his features gone! The features
with which men smile had gone gfrom his
face. Did you ever ask yourself how you
would express joy if you couldn't express
it in your face--if you had no face? This
Scottish boy with the black mask sat there
and listened to the message Of hope from
America, and somehow he expressed Joy
and satisfaction. Great strength Of char
acter and spirit was overcoming terrible
handicap in that lad. His heart was with
the battle he had helped fight and he want
ed to hear about the men from over
the sea who were coming to help in the
winning Of it, so that his own sacrifice
should not have been in vain. Those who
saw the boy with the black mask in Edin-
burgh will never forget it.
One of the best known French artists OBJ
tanned his first leave Of absence from the
camouhage corps ahaut three months ago.
He headed straight for Paris, and there he
gathered in a few of his old friends at
luncheon.
AS the artist and his chums sat about
the table an air raid began. The bombs
began to fall
"One," counted the artist, as the first
explosion was heard.
"Two," he said as the second one fell.
"And the next one will be for u.s."
AS he made this unpleasant prediction
the artist began to draw on the tablecloth
a picture of bomb exploding in the midst
OF the party, scattering host, guests and
furnishings to the four winds.
The picture was almost complete when
the prediction was fulfilled The next
oomo was Tor them. The artist who drew
the picture was pinned under an iron bal
cony and barely escaped death.
Paris is full of such peculiar incidents.
Nothing is too strange to happen. All
Flance is full of stories of such Incidents
and SO IS all Britain. Truth is coming
into its own, because truth can beat fiction.
Even the humor Of Ireland is given a
new hue by the war. Nothing escapes it's
influence
Two of us were seeing bit of Dublin
from the vantage point offered by jaunt-
ing car. And no Irishman is more filed
with the efervescent spirit of the old sod
thar the garry" driver of Dublin.
We crossed the river Lifey-a river once
fragrant with fragrance undesirable. Now
it is spic and span. The driver made COM
mont. "Sure, it usen't to be so classic" he
said, with a brogue as broad as the clean
swept walk along the now "classic" bank.
They'll be catchin' salmon in the River
Liffey yet, it's that clean an swate now"
We passed a. square, all blooming with
hawthornes. "Now look" said our driver
philosopher and guide. "The hawthornes
are all red this year. Pm thinkin' it's an
omen. They've been white in other wears.
but this year they're all red Sure it's an
omen. don't know what it means. but it,
an omen O. some kind"
His tone was lugubrious, but his melod.
Gus rounding of the turns in his pronuncia-
ticn was delightful. The blooms were rod
and, omen or no omen. they were beauti-
full