eve quite wonderful experiment, this
sending of the right sort of girls to work and to associate with the
boys in the army. War is bad. The herding of men in armies is bad. I
have never before realized how much men need good women. It is up to
us to _be_ good, in all the joyous, efficient, and true sense of the
word.

To return to our trip to Paris. After our soldier left us, two nice
French women squeezed into our compartment. The train got fuller and
fuller. In the corridor a tall English officer sat on his bag and
puffed his pipe at us. Next to him three exuberant French poilus half
lay and half sat all in a heap, their shrapnel helmets, canteens and
packs piled about them. There was much laughter and snatches of song
among them, and many winks at the English officer who remained
supremely indifferent to them. One of them smoked two cigarettes at a
time for our benefit, sometimes puffing one through his nose and the
other through his mouth. It was long after dark, and we had had
nothing to eat or drink since eleven a.m., and we were all squeezed so
tight we couldn't move. At last I offered the officer my large
suitcase for a seat, which he accepted. One of the French soldiers sat
on it with him, the ice was broken, and we all had a very delightful
time till we got to Paris at midnight. A hasty bite at the canteen,
and we were rushed to another station and put on the train for
Versailles where a hotel was reserved for us. There we have stayed
under very damp and cold conditions, going into Paris every day for
more conferences, physical examinations, etc. Tomorrow I expect to
receive my assignment. I have no idea where it will be.

You should see la Place de la Concorde. All the captured German guns
have been gathered there. These great, hideous things fascinate me in
a strange way, and I wandered among them the other day examining them.
There are hundreds of trench mortars that sent the dreaded
"Minnenwurfer"; ugly, chunky guns, peculiarly vicious looking. Around
the obelisk are arranged the long-distance guns, their gigantic
muzzles pointing in the air. Hundreds and hundreds of guns! As you
look toward the Arc de Triomphe the Champs Elysees is lined on both
sides with guns close together, all the way. They are all camouflaged,
mottled and streaked in green and brown. It is bewildering to look at
them. They are the symbol, I suppose, of a great indelible mark in the
book of history, which later generations will gaze