ared burial of the dead a corporal work of mercy. It is
the mark, neither of the Christian individual nor nation, to disrespect
a body nor desecrate its resting place. The fact that in life it was
tenanted by the soul of an enemy is no justification for dishonoring it;
for He who is Infinite Truth and Justice declares "Love thy enemy; do
good to those who hate you, and bless those who persecute you." This, of
course, is not the way of the world; but _is_ the way of Him whose
standards of living must guide our lives, and whose will to reward or
punish us shall prevail through Eternity.

We had now been many weeks at the extreme front on minimum ration of all
things bearing on bodily comfort or mental relaxation. Water was but a
word, a memory, cherished dream of him who wrote "The Old Oaken Bucket."
If we could but find enough of the chlorinated drug store kind to
nourish our canteen, we were prepared to dispense with the common, or
laundry serving, variety.

In the eternal fitness of things, there came now into being an Army
institution, officially known as the Delousing Station. It appears to
have been named in memory of a certain small wingless insect. There was
an appeal to it that at once caught the popular fancy of the soldiers,
always itching for novelty, and it became the most frequented of
watering places. It was a thoroughly democratic affair, officers and
enlisted men freely approving and patronizing it, under the undenying
impulse, no doubt, of a common human need. It little mattered that its
location was usually the wreckage of some wind-swept barn; or that its
furniture consisted of a barrel of water jauntily poised on the rafters;
the spectacle of Buddie, bar of soap in hand, sporting and splashing in
the limpid stream of that miniature Niagara, offered wealth of theme for
the inspired artist, poet, and writer of commercial advertising.

I greatly wonder that the hallowed memory of this loving institution has
so far escaped the popular fancy as to be left "unwept, unhonored and
unsung." That it _was_ inspirational might be shown from the case of a
boy of the 64th Infantry changing the words of the popular song, "They
go wild, simply wild, over me," to "They _run_ wild, simply wild, over
me."

Huts designed to offer any manner of mental relaxation, reading, music,
and the like, were necessarily many miles to the rear. No sound but gun
fire was ever to be heard. No matin bugle call of Reveille to rouse, n