The sun., 1919-07-20

a wounded rabbit or bIrd!) ana would
steal any other fellows grub to give to
his prisoner"
John Ayscough says: "When 1 think Of
our soldiers never know whether to laugh
or cry" He probably laughed when after
the mass In the huge Gothic barn, where
600 soldiers sat around in the hay, they
jostled each other afterward to get the
medals that were distributed, and young
corporal was heard to expostGlaatte: 'Here,
this amt dance, and you aren't swell
tryin' to get an am and chicken"
III.
The letters were obviously not intend
ed to be especially interesting except
to the one to whom they were writ
ten. But if any one had said as
much to John Ayseough's mother. she
probably would have looked like the
photograph m which he describes her
expression as the one you assume
when have just told you an amazing
fable; In contrast with another express
sion 'that you put on when you have
done something had like walking of TO
the garden alone) and don't intend TO
repent" They are just such letters as
an old lady of eighty-fve waiting at home
would want TO receive from a son from
whom she had never long been separated.
He himself says his letters are monoto-
nous, and writes:
II fill my letters with very uninterest-
ing talk-but there is nothing to tell you'll
Ny life is as monotonous as a cnckoo's
song, and if cuckoos wrote daily letters
to their parents, one would pity their
parents"
Nothing 10 tel'' was of course the
best Of news. Even as early as Septem-
Der, 1914, he is assuring her that the war
will soon be over; that he would not be
surprised if the enemy asked for an arm
istice any day; and that she should not
be worried by the talk of the war lasting
two or three years, since this is only said
to brighten the Germans, and make them
think the Allies viii fight for twenty
years if necessary He writes to her
about her clothes, which he Is sure need
replenisling: Il propose a light silk
dress-you have only the very pretty.
but now old, lavender something of
that type: i should say two, tussore
colored one and lavender, gray blue or
lilac. But tel me about fhe eteeteras,
millinery, wells, that you want"
BE writes to her about the books he
reads, books In which she herself might he
interested-Thackeray, for example; or
Feuts on the Fiords, by Harriet Marti-
mean, (which you read aloud to me about
(almost exactly fifty years ago. 1t is
worth a hundred of the books written
now He sends HadenoiselJc Ire to
her, which be says he first read when it
appeared thirty years ago-but cannot
read again. He reminds her that this is
a book that was refused by seventeen
publishers, and brought the publisher
who accepted it at last so much that he
gave the author 100000 for her next
book ''that no one cared sixpence for"
And here is an interesting glimpse Of one
of the younger men:
"At my little evening service last night
I noticed a very intelligent looking young
fellow, with rather a handsome face,
Irish coloring and eyes: as they were
going away nodded to him to stop
moment, and asked him his name. Pat
rick MacGil' Where do you come
fromT Donegal: but live at Windsor
4 suppose you have only been a soldier
since the beginning of the wary Yes
What are you by occupationT "A novel
ist.' Then / remembered :. - just be-
fore the var l remembered reading re-
views of two novels of his, praised to the
skies; one called The Dead End and the
other The Rat Pit, and seeing very inter
esting portrait of him in one of the pa
pers. He is only twenty-four. We had
a Yong talk and / found him interesting,
but little grand, especially In his way