chaplains, with us. He plays the game, and I've struck up a
great friendship with him. We discuss literature and religion when we're
feeling a bit fed up. We talk at home of our faith being tested--one
begins to ask strange questions here when he sees what men are allowed
by the Almighty to do to one another, and so it's a fine thing to be in
constant touch with a great-hearted chap who can risk his life daily to
speak of the life hereafter to dying Tommies.

I wish I could tell you of my doings, but it's strictly against orders.
You may read in the papers of actions in which I've taken part and never
know that I was there.

We live for the most part on tinned stuff, but our appetites make
anything taste palatable. Living and sleeping in the open air keeps one
ravenous. And one learns to sleep the sleep of the just despite the
roaring of the guns.

God bless you each one and give us peaceful hearts.

Yours ever,
Con.

XVI

September 28th, 1916.

My Dears:

We're in the midst of a fine old show, so I don't get much opportunity
for writing. Suffice it to say that I've seen the big side of war by now
and the extraordinary uncalculating courage of it. Men run out of a
trench to an attack with as much eagerness as they would display in
overtaking a late bus. If you want to get an idea of what meals are like
when a row is on, order the McAlpin to spread you a table where 34th
crosses Broadway--and wait for the uptown traffic on the Elevated. It's
wonderful to see the waiters dodging with dishes through the
shell-holes.

It's a wonderful autumn day, golden and mellow; I picture to myself what
this country must have looked like before the desolation of war struck
it.

I was Brigade observation officer on September 26th, and wouldn't have
missed what I saw for a thousand dollars. It was a touch and go
business, with shells falling everywhere and machine-gun fire--but
something glorious to remember. I had the great joy of being useful in
setting a Hun position on fire. I think the war will be over in a
twelvemonth.

Our great joy is composing menus of the meals we'll eat when we get
home. Good-bye for the present.
CON.

XVII

October 1st, 1916.

MY DEAREST M.:

Sunday morning, your first back in Newark. You're not up yet owing to
the difference in time--I can imagine the quiet house with the first of
t