th.

The Y.M.C.A. hut at Reherrey was a mile and a half behind the line.
Briggs was the secretary. His fine, erect carriage and soldierly
bearing brought him many an unconscious salute from the buck private.
He was a Billy Sunday convert. "I have drunk enough rum to float a
battleship" was the way he told of his wild career. The boys at
Reherrey loved and respected him. His Bible class was the most
enthusiastic I saw in France. When he announced a Sunday evening
service the hut was filled. Candles served as chandelier and desk
lamp. With a sergeant who was a live wire at the piano and Briggs as
song leader, the singing of the fellows not only "raised the roof" but
it also raised the spirits of the men.

About half way through the talk a terrific explosion told us that
Fritz was getting busy. Quietly all candles were blown out. It was a
military order. Aside from this not a man stirred. The message went
right on, punctuated by the exploding shells. There was no fear but an
intense interest in the great call of God to the duty of the hour. At
the close the men pressed forward to grip the speaker's hand, and as
we walked out under the stars, a widow's only son acknowledged that he
had long been the victim of the drink curse and had broken his
mother's heart. "I have taken my last drink," he said; "I will
write to my mother, _but she cannot believe me_. Won't you write her
too and tell her that her son has given himself to the Lord Jesus
Christ?"

[Illustration: VARIETIES OF SHELLS AND BOMBS
(Photographed at Nancy)]

The most impressive thing to me about the religion of the soldiers was
its wholesomeness. "Over there" a man dared to be natural. The mask of
pretense was torn off. Men were not hypocrites in the face of death.
They were free; and that freedom showed itself in their religion as
well as in their pleasures. The soldier whom I met in the front line
trench with "_I need Thee every hour_" printed across the front of his
gas mask, was not considered a fanatic.

And when an American Bishop consented to share a Sunday night program
with Elsie Janis, the famous vaudeville actress, the great Bishop
became suddenly _greater_ in the estimation of Christian and
non-Christian alike, and the passionately expressive "Elsie" had a
new and wholesome interpretation put upon her fun and her jokes by the
magic which that combination wrought.

My plea is for that type of Christianity, so pure as to be above
reproach