The Monticellonian., 1919-01-10

sat three generations of harveSters- 24 men women and children.
 \ warm, soothing, natural" odor of oxen and stable came thinly and not unpleasantlX into the feast chamber. which had that dignity of proportion and fine simplicity of lines which speaks of Tuscan taste, even in these humble quarters. A light hung from the center of the ceiling threw a rath- CT dim illumination over the festive board, but amply sufficient for us to see all the good things which awaited our impending attack First soup was served from huge bowls into deep, ca pacious dishes; next came q rich and satisfying fritto misto. and then large plattefs burdened with pasta redo lent with an herb savored sauce. There was plenty of honest wine to wash down the huge slashes of war bread served out generously to all of us.
 No Bitterness in War Talk.
 After the pleasant business of eating was over the men started talking about
 
 jeetive discussion without bitterness or hatred, of something unpleasant which had to be done, but all must wish that it should be ended and laid aside as soon as possible. Then the conversation waxed warm in the more direct and personal realities of the years corps, and the promise for the hn little children snuggled closer to their mothers sides and childish heads bent slecpilY over the table or fell. relaxed and safe, on arms soft and solicitehs with maternal care The drowsiness of a hard days labor crept irresstibly upon the men.
 We said good night and start ed homeward; the little oil lamp by the door had hickered out, but faint moonlight was bathing the landscape in soft, mystical indiStinctness far away the domes and towers of Flor enee rose skyward like dream sym bols of hopes and darings of love and faith
 l sat in contemplation, watching the moonlight wax stronger and brighter, making more real and definite the pie ture of peace on earth spread so won drously before me, till my thoughts wandered away to another harvest scene, far removed among sterner but no less peace loving mountains, q har- vest scene of battle wherein men like those with whom had gathered grapes today were the protagonists.
 Look! A once hourishing little town, with not single one of it's houses unscathed, and most of them horribly rent asunder, showing the debris of what had once been the privacy and the sanetity of peaceful hearths. In the partial shelter of these shells of homes along the main streets of the town, countless men are sitting or crouehing. in full fighting equipment, waiting for orders to pro- ceed to the front trenches, where q battle has just been fought and won.
 Let us walk to the battlefield; it is reached through a pine wood still smoking reSinously from the fires which the bursting shells have started. The road is wholly exposed to the range of the enemy's artillery, but thousands of men have gallantIy crossed it in order to reach their com rades in the trenches beyond. You can see what the harvest has been here. There are fragments of shrap- nel and uneXploded shells along every foot of the line; by the whir of the proieetses still passing over our heads we can reconstruct the scene of hfe of some hours ago; the shells whizz by us With that horrible suggestive fotatory sound which seems to say: coming, Coming Bang-and you die,