Miss Cunningham entered the service through the American Red Cross and while with the unit in France was transferred to the Army as a civilian employee by a general order from the War Department at Washington. She assisted the officers in the clerical work of making out medical and surgical historical records, writing of official letters, reports and statements and kept the accounts of the Hospital American Red Cross fund. The results showed that Miss Cunningham was acquainted with the directing of office affairs and knew how the work could be best handled. Besides this, she willingly gave what time could be spared to help others, as the necessity arose in the line of duty in which she proved herself so capable.

During some of the busiest times when the hospital was filled with patients and running to full capacity, the work in this branch became very heavy and frequently necessitated remaining on duty until late in the evening. Miss Cunningham applied herself loyally to the added responsibilities on these occasions and did not allow an abundance of work to interfere with the entire accomplishment of each of the various duties of the office. Before volunteering her services with Base Hospital No. 5, Miss Cunningham figured prominently in the sporting world in America. In 1916 she was runner-up in the national tennis tournament. When quiet periods moderated the work at the hospital she might be found following her talent on the courts near the old city of Boulogne; where several international tennis tournaments have been held. Miss Cunningham is an admirable golfer and an excellent horsewoman.

A very necessary part of the administration of the hospital was the work of recording statistics gathered by the doctors concerning conditions and developments of specific cases. No one could have been better fitted to this work than Miss Shepley. Before mobilization of the unit Miss Shepley was Dr. Cushing's secretary at the Peter Bent Brigham Hospital in Boston. There she received valuable training and experience which helped her to carry out so successfully the duty to which she was assigned while in the service of the Army. Despite the great amount of work which constantly passed through her hands in connection with reports and histories of the progress of hundreds of patients, Miss Shepley found time to continue very ably secretarial work for the chief organizer of the unit. A noteworthy feature was the thoroughness with which this particular and important division in the offices of the hospital was marked. Conscientiousness and carefulness to detail were never lacking.

Miss Shepley left the unit in the winter of 1918 and proceeded to Neufchâteau, where Colonel Cushing was attached at the Medical and Surgical Consultant Headquarters. She returned to Base Hospital No. 5 shortly before the unit left for home. On rare occasions she would grace the hut dances with her presence.

Straight and erect down the stairs. Straight and erect across the road. Straight and erect to the office. Whizz went the papers, bang went the books. One minute, if the chairs and table had nothing to say, and the keys flew for dear life. Reports, records, returns, letters, despatches, telegrams---reams of paper on two sheets---hours of work in five minutes. A decision to be made consultation at once. "Good morning, Major. It won't take a jiffy to tell you what I am going to say. You know, of course, the lateness of the hour which kept me at my desk last night. I am having considerable difficulty in figuring out the figures and letters to be typed on account of the distance between the light and the ceiling; that is to say, the length of the cord should be reduced a few inches in order to direct the light directly upon my desk, which, you know, is in that corner and not in an awfully good place. Not that I want the desk moved an inch. I can do my work there just as well as I can anywhere else. That is, you know, a minor matter. The only thing is, if a nail could be put in the window so that the glass wouldn't rattle, it might lessen the strain on the roof, which is beginning to leak quite badly. But that doesn't matter a particle. I just wanted to get your approval before I asked the Quartermaster to send up his men to shorten the cord on the light over my desk. I am sure I should be able to do a great deal more if that could be attended to. I am getting out a report on a case for Dr. Morton, you know. It's a very interesting one. The man's relatives from England have just been here to see him. He is a perfect dear and just as courageous as he can be. I am going to ask Mr. Coupland to go in and see him. Well, I must get back. Dr. Morton will be simply furious if it isn't all finished tonight. Thank you, Major. I know it's going to be so much better with the light fixed. It's awfully good of you." The door opened the walls stood back---the way cleared and the detachment marched back to post. Onward, Christian Soldiers.

Marjorie went to France, as a Dietitian, but like so many of us had love's young dream spoiled and upon arrival had to go to work. She spent her time F. O. B'ing three meals a day from the market place to the Hotel Marine. Enjoyed being the only girl in the unit not to have her name mentioned in a romance, as she deplored sentiment. A studious French scholar and regular recipient of mail or rather a recipient of regular mail.

Small and smiling. Pure gold inside, but with a generous coating of brass. Author of "Letters of an Orderly" in eighteen volumes. By his voluminous correspondence, free of postage, he nearly ruined the United States Treasury. He was put in the mess hall to sweeten with his beaming countenance the provender handed out to the emaciated unfortunates, but instead served maconochie the first day. A rapacious antiquarian. Watch out for your candlesticks!

A blue-eyed, fair-haired, good-looking young soda-mixer from Hudson. Wears his overseas cap like an aviator and is rather fond of high flying. Has been dispenser for eight months and has probably learned enough about drugs to do business when he gets home, if he hasn't forgotten how to sling fizz-water. Discovered the city of Toulouse and still receives letters from a fair Toulousienne who doesn't want to lose "Al." Also favored by a fair Sinn Feiner from Dublin with wonderful eyes and a delightful brogue. A clever, popular, clean-cut fellow who, we all hope, will sell more soda than ever now that July 1st restrictions are in vogue.

When Baker heard that his name would appear in this Souvenir Book he approached the editors in his customary bland, suave manner and requested that he be written down a "prince" and a "good fellow." This, he figured, would have considerable advertising value when he opened up his photo studio in Boston. So be it known by these presents that Baker is a prince and moreover a man of marvelous capacity, a wonderful photographer and a general all-round genius. (See footnote.)

NOTE.---If Baker would only devote his efforts to something worthwhile, his own estimate of himself might get by; but his ideas seem to run to the bizarre, such, for instance, as modeling nurses and privates in clay, which resemble the originals about as closely as Baker resembles a soldier. No story was too absurd for Cecil to swallow and no rumor too ridiculous for him to spread, and his theories on most subjects would cause the emanations of the average lunatic to appear like the reflections of a philosopher.

The only thing we have against Charlie is that he is one of the "Foreign Legion" from Lawrence, but he is quite American. Knows a few things about cars, yes, a little too much, "I'll say" for the Sergeant of Transportation of Mobile No. 6. Charlie, like the rest of us, held every job from "can opener" to the "corridor or recreation squad." He favored the last-named job as it allowed for more time off. He is like a Frenchman, as his nickname indicates. He is an Englishman as regards his taste for wine. Charlie sure can get "beaucoup" inspiration from a glass of "vin blink." While with Mobile No. 6 he saw the boys in right when it came to "buckshee" eats. He went out often and never failed to bring back a truck load.

The mysterious George Saunders from Camiers. Famous souvenir collector and permanent member of the renowned "Five-nighters." Implicated in the notorious robberies of the Delinquency Book and Wootsie Day's chevrons. Organizer of Adrian Hut Concert Party; also interested in Movie Company of same name. Celebrated Teetotaler, Connoisseur of Mangee, Demoiselles and African Golf.

"Bart" has given his address as Kentucky, but in spite of that he seems to wear shoes as naturally as though he had been accustomed to them all his life. He is a natural athlete and has performed great deeds for our baseball team, both in the box, the windy corner and the bat. As a contortionist and tumbler with our concert troupe he has given direct evidence in support of the Darwinian theory. Bart is one of the few who is well liked by every man in the unit as well as by most of the nurses, but we shall not hold the last against him. He couldn't help it. We may lose sight of him when we hit the U. S. A., but we shall always remember him as a cheerful, good-natured boy, always ready to go the limit for his friends.

A tall, dark, romantic-looking youth with poetic eyes and wavy hair. A worthy rival to Lou Tellegen, who Geraldine says reminds her of a Greek god. Bart is an optician by profession, but really should be in moving pictures. Has a lovable disposition and is especially fond of children.

How can we do justice in a few short lines to a Mind which contains more military knowledge than that of Foch; more medical dope than that of Osler, and more general information than is contained in the Encyclopadia Britannica! Seated on his throne in the Reception Hall, Beatty personally interviewed more than ten thousand Tommies and stored his mind with enough bunk to entertain the Newton, N. J., firemen on many a rainy Sunday. He manages to have an original idea on every subject, and if that idea is too profound for the ordinary mind to grasp, the admiral is always willing to revise it. A genial, efficient, popular young man with an especially fine jaw development.

A versatile young man. Although not an original member of the Foreign Legion, he enrolled as soon as possible with that unexcelled body of men. His ability in the culinary art soon brought him mention in despatches, and a Hospital Order was posted, making him cook. As a cook he is a musician without equal; and under his coaching and "One, two, three, play," the best jazz band north of Paris materialized.

Beloved by many, respected by all, Brother Bierstadt towers among us the greatest scholastic light of the unit. So intimate is he with Gothic cathedrals that he calls the very gargoyles by their first names, and acts as official interpreter when Greek, Italian, French, Spanish or American patients arrive. To overcome "a natural shyness" he makes regular rounds among the wards, and on Christmas Eve, with an unseen sprig of mistletoe, captured many fair sweepstakes. His loathing for things military is equaled only by his love of art, music and "bully beef." With an appetite proportionate to his height and ready wit, greater than both, you can always tell Professor Bierstadt, but you can't tell him much.

A long, lean specimen from Cambridge who fell into a soft job as soon as he struck the unit. He and "Doc" Harwood used to carry stretchers from six A.M. to eight P.M., and if they were lucky they could sleep a little while. "Hy" was wounded by the same shell that killed Lieutenant Fitzsimmons. Was promoted to "can opener" after we moved to Boulogne and like the rest of the kitchen mechanics spent more time pressing his clothes than he did cooking.

The dean of the unit, a father and a grandfather, "Pop" joined up to fight for his country or to escape the sheriff, we don't know which. Has tinkered with all the watches and clocks in the outfit, which may account for the fact that nobody is ever certain as to what time it is. Had two loving aunts in England, and just barely managed to get to see one of them. Plays the guitar beautifully and his rendering of the "Siege of Sebastopol" is one of the seven wonders of the world. Has been a detective, farmer, insurance agent and watchmaker. Has not decided definitely to which of these professions he will return, but his love for playing with the intestines and intimate parts of watches and clocks will without doubt be a determining factor in his choice. . .

We shall best remember Cliff for his positive ideas on things in general and also in particular. We first heard his resonant voice on the "Saxonia" and it would be incorrect to say that we have not heard it since. "Fed Up" is hardly a fair nickname for Cliff because he has a considerable toleration for things and for people except those people who really like military life. Born off the coast of France under the British flag, he is a real American with an inborn love for Ireland. He is a good Democrat with socialistic leanings, but would stand for the reign of one king who could give us the art treasures that Louis XIV gave to France.

Fred Burton is a man whose good will it behooves us all to cultivate, for he is one of the triumvirate that stands behind the mess counter. Whenever his ladle, the symbol of his authority, descends into the stew, we can be certain that he has appraised you at your true worth, and you will receive your just deserts If there is any appeal to a higher authority, he never deigns to give an explanation, for his ladle has spoken. But if you protest, he will put you to shame and silence with that slow but severe sarcasm, peculiar to him. We have never seen Fred really angry. That red cherub nose of his has never grown redder with heated denunciations of existing evils. Why should it? Because he has passed through greater crises at Lawrence than with the Army.

John Butterworth was born in Lawrence, which, of course, was not his fault. It is believed the event occurred sometime during the dark ages. This would naturally explain why John always had squinty eyes. He distinguished himself numbers of times by daringly dashing down in the face of the enemy in Bassin Loubet and returning to our midst with great honors and two or three sacks of bread. For these heroic exploits he was promoted to the glorious rank of Mess Sergeant. After that the mess was always rank. A singer of note, but just what note nobody ever knew. In addition to his other duties, he was elected President of the Recreation Hat Committee. His tireless efforts at the Thanksgiving and Christmas "feeds" will long be remembered.

We once heard it said that Napoleon, though small of stature, was great, and we might well say the same of Larry. Likewise, he grated on our nerves, particularly when he divulged his love affairs---a big subject in Larry's life.

His one pleasure seemed to be in writing touching poems in French to his many admirers "toutes petites," poems to move their passionate hearts to tears. And such love letters---in French, too! Larry could sit down at a typewriter and rattle off that sort of stuff like a machine gun. Larry's one best bet in the matrimonial line overseas suddenly announced her marriage to another Yank, which hit him pretty hard, particularly in view of the fact that he had invested a small fortune in the cause in the form of "vin blanc" and "Lyle's Golden Syrup." One of Larry's accomplishments---and he had many---was getting in Dutch in spite of all efforts to abide by King's Regulations et al. He and Hep persisted in running in cross currents, and it is needless to add who always came out on top. Latest reports indicated that Larry struck his last bit of hard luck after we left him behind us in Vannes, by falling off a wall and breaking his leg in three places. His proverbial fortune would indicate that it should normally have been his neck, but somehow or other he was lucky this time. We can't imagine what Larry was doing on top of a stone wall unless he was trying to get out of the "clink."

All in all, you've got to hand it to Larry. Come what might, he always "came up smiling."

Every unit has to have a mascot and we think no one more entitled to this distinction than our little "Peewee." What would Colonel Patterson have done without him? The answer is that he wouldn't, so we said good-by to our youngest when the C. O. left us and we first heard rumors of Corporal and then of Sergeant Call. Suddenly he dropped in among us again wearing the Sam Browne. We are glad the war ended when it did, for if the Germans had captured Peewee they might have got us all wrong, thinking that we were robbing the cradle to get soldiers. Aside from his progress in the Army Peewee is noted for his feminine impersonations with the Concert Troupe.

"Cal" has not only dispensed drugs but he has also dispensed good cheer. We haven't met many boys with a better disposition than this young man from Haverhill. Knowing Haverhill as we do we don't understand how Cal managed to live there and still see the sunny side of life. Somebody once told Cal that he could pitch, and the poor boob believed it. The way they treated this young man the day he essayed to prove his ability was pathetic. Intends to buy a drug store and settle down in his native burg. Feels sure that this prohibition business will make a fortune for him; but we doubt it, Cal, old top.

A quiet, good-looking chap from Tech who was never overfond of exertion save at Red Dog. The height of his ambition (in the Army) was to have a graft where you could tell how hard you worked, and by keeping out of sight make a few people (including the C. O.) believe it. His ambitions were realized when he got in the kitchen and was rated a cook. We all liked Eddie Cameron and were very sorry when he decided to leave the British Army and join the Americans.

Private. Enlisted with unit Boston, May 7, 1917. Died at Camiers June 17, 1917.

With as many kinds of versatility as there are soups, Harry managed to keep the unit, the orthopedic shop and two automobiles in good running order, not to mention any number of phonographs. His conversational monkey wrench, however, could not twist the bolt of the Francaise-Americaine Alliance, so "I look you," "You speak me" had to stand. As the caterer of the Sergeants' Mess, Harry has seen us right.

"Whoa, whoa, Prince." Thus echoed a commanding voice along one of Worcester's residential streets early in May, 1917; as a cumbersome cart of "The Worcester Ice Co." came to a halt. Springing lightly from his seat, and weighing out 10 cents' worth of ice, Charlie Caron, his face all smiles, entered the back kitchen, where he knew he would find Maggie, the cook. Maggie was waiting for him. In her hand she had a Boston Post.

Almost immediately she pointed to an advertisement surrounded by a black mourning border: "Wanted, Blacksmiths, Cobblers, Ambulance Drivers and Cooks. For Immediate Overseas Service. Apply at Base Hospital No. 5, Boston." Charlie Caron enlisted as a blacksmith. He has done almost everything else since his arrival in France. But still he continues to smile. We often wonder what he will say to Maggie when she asks, "What did you do in the great war, Charlie?"

This young gentleman has an ingrowing disposition which bothers him considerably from time to time. With a Harvard education and tortoise-shell glasses we admit it was pretty rough on him to have to associate with fellows from South Boston and Roxbury Crossing. He was one of the Mobile Boys who went up where the shells fell and horned in on the blanket promotion of the whole outfit as sergeants. Plays the violin like a second Paganini,---we hope there will never be a third one. Captured the heart of the fairest Waac that ever came to France, which statement can only be appreciated by those who have seen the Waacs.

The following is an extract from an address on Anthropology delivered by Cattell at the age of three at a meeting of the ancient and honorable Society of Asculapian Biological and Heterogeneous Protomartyrs:

"We find that the legumatum arcuatuum externum is a tendernis band extending from the apex of the transverse process to the lower border of the last rib. It forms an arch across the quadratus lumborum and is continuous with the interior wall of the sheath of that muscle derived from the posterior aponeurosis of the transversalis abdominis."

It is now quite clear to us all why green blackberries are red. However, for the benefit of those who are still in the dark much light on this matter may be obtained by a careful study of Cattell's interesting works on the psclynctum. The "Doc" was a good fellow for all of this and could make old Sam Woods look sick as a checker player. "Doc" loved to hear the pitter-patter of the shrapnel falling on the roof of his cabin when Fritz was over. He claimed it was quieting and soothing to the nerves after superintending the unloading of a convoy of three or four hundred cases. How we do differ! He spent most of his time off duty making improvements on his newest invention, which is an electrical contrivance to weigh the quantity of salt in a wave in the middle of the ocean. What a wonderful advancement when perfected! Imagine the great satisfaction of being able to know just how much salt there was in the wave that twiddled over the ship from bow to stern. While bending over his microscope in the wee small hours of the night one time Cattell discovered the exact amount of aqua contained in water. All Paris so enthused over this invaluable exposure of one of nature's most treasured secrets that "Doc" was sent for at once. Dazzled by the life of the great city he failed utterly and miserably in his work and was thrust into a dark and dingy hole full of terrible drugs and awful traps and devices and made to wear a Sam .Browne. Thus this wonderful genius passed from our sight.

A man from the "Hielands," a good fellow, not at all stingy (just careful). House-man at the Churcy Army Hut and a Mechanic, First-class (five per month extra). He was never known to answer reveille. A member of the famous Whizzbang Concert Troupe, in which he was renowned for personal imitations of ancient Scottish ballads.

Enlisted unit, Boston, May 7, 1917. Detached Service, Mobile No. 6, A. E. F., August 21, 1918, to January 7, 1919. Returned with unit.

In looking over Order No. 17289, G.H.Q., D.D.M.S.M/150-L. of C. 2580 D.M.S.E.M.O., Walt discovered that patience and tolerance could alone save him from gray hairs. Official solver of mysterious communications, red tape and trouble, "Walt" bore the burdens of Chief Clerk with ability and fortitude.

A regular fighting bantam. No strange rooster should venture into his hen yard. Originally was a wild fowl but has now become domesticated. Will probably soon settle down on a farm and start raising little chicks.

Born in the early nineties in New Hampshire, he gave to that state its only claim to the Hall of Fame. Later known to both political and religious circles of Brockton, Mass. It is said that he worked hard in one to offset what he did in the other. The only man in the unit to have his name in gold in two city halls. His two vices are his friendship for Ex-mayor Curley of Boston and his fondness for Issue Jam. Nicknamed "Rock of Ages" it was soon changed to "Gentle Grafter," for his ability to plan the almost impossible and then carry it out. Discoverer of both Aix-les-Bains and the front-line trenches months before the unit was aware of either. We wait the time when he will be placed in line with our old friend, Dr. Cook. With a heart of gold and a personality much bigger than himself, let us leave the gentle grafter and pass on.

Private. Enlisted with unit, Boston, May 7, 1917. Detached for temporary duty with Surgical Operating Team at No. 46, C. C. S., B. E. F., July 22, 1917, to November 1, 1917. Transferred to Camp Hospital No. 72, A.E.F., October 12, 1918.

Hospital Sergeant. Medical Department, U. S. Army. Assigned to unit, Fort Totten, May 11, 1917. Detached March 27, 1918, to Officers' Training Camp, Langres.

Coleman was chief blanket folder for the stretcher crews. Being troubled from childhood with amphilophsus viischii (which means hardening of the bones) he was unable to lift any great weight. This occurred frequently in the head. So hard did his bones become at other times that he registered much annoyance endeavoring to eat delicious maconochie fruit salad, a dainty dish so familiar to us all. But he could fold blankets faster than old Ben Steward could drink Cognac by the gallon, which unquestionably sets a record. Coleman's past is very dark, almost an unquestionable mystery; but it is claimed by some that he was the one who loaded on the straw that broke the camel's back. Personally, we believe he is the man who invented mechanical toothpicks. If you could not think of a good excuse for not doing anything, for two francs Coleman would give you your pick of a very large selection.

The unit heavyweight who elected himself to the kitchen soon after we began to operate. A general good fellow whom everyone liked and who did his best to give the troops something to eat (Fred Grammatic's opinion not counted). Was frequently seen on moonlight nights on the outskirts of the city with a lady in blue during the last months in France. Yes, we all liked "Ted" and we must admit that we never had a ball team until he took control.

"Chubby" Couture is a man of whom America may well be proud. Not because he is a hero of the battlefront, but because he represents the typical American. A man true to his daily duties and true to his principles. What more could be said of him than that he had a great principle and lived it! Such, man is our Chubby of the "Fighting Fifth."

Back in '17 a youth six feet three, in height was heard to remark, "I'll never be happy till I get a suit of civies." Its was "Civies" Crawford and he talked about that suit for the next twenty-one months. Helped Dublin Moll to run C-13 into the mud and ruled supreme in D Hut for a long time in Boulogne. Always with a song on his lips even when he was longing most for that suit of civies. '

And who may this be-grave, dignified and crowned with a bald spot demanding reverence? Is he, pray, an ambassador or mayhap a philosopher? Of a truth, no. 'Tis Ralph, the ideal orderly, the man possessed of a conscience stronger than steel, and not impressionable even in the Army. The first time a patient sees him, he "sirs" him like a colonel; before long he loves him like a brother. Ralph's sympathy runs strong; he can even put conviction into his "I'll bet you do," in response to the dullest patient's narrative, and into the patient's thick skull the idea gradually trickles that he himself must be a genius to arouse such interest. But Ralph has more sensational elements in his life. He soars aloft, borne along by strains of ethereal melody. And he is, too, looked favorably upon by fair eyes. Not a more brilliant future was assured for any one, until, woe is me, he suddenly fell from his skylark heights and became a jail bird. We still wear sackcloth and ashes, and the fields about wicked Paris are suffering a blight from heaven for seven years. But O, the inconsistency of women! Instead of liking him less, the nurses like him better than ever, for he has now the one trait he lacked before, a quality dear to the female breast---a desperado-like swashbucklership.

One of the boys who belonged to the "U. S. Officers' Club." A chap well known, well liked, a true friend to all. It was "K.J." who published the itinerary for all walks on "G.’s Road." This chap was an officer of the "Go West Club," an active member of the "Operating Assistants Association," and an honorary member of the "Salvage Club." "K. J." was one of the best ward orderlies produced by Captain Clute, an ardent student of nursing in Miss Karas' class and a buckshee artist. "K. J." will never be forgotten by the many friends he has made in France.

A red-headed youth with a line all his own. Was everything in the unit from ward orderly to chauffeur and finally ended up by driving an ambulance and running the fumigator on his time off.

The question is, "Why has Tim the reputation among the fellows of being a 'helluva good fellow' and among the nurses of being 'one of the few gentlemen' among the enlisted men?" Healthy, hale and hasty, from the land of Ethan Allen, Tim somehow manages to make himself popular with every one. Perhaps it is hereditary, for we are told his father is a prominent politician. Tim is another one of the "Cheery- O, Old Bean" clique. We expect he will be a missionary or something like that when he gets home. He has rendered material aid in introducing American customs, mostly dance steps, into the wilds of Henriville and Wimereux. Tim admits that things are pretty dead around Boulogne these days, but that is because he has been in charge of the morgue for six months.

A soldier of many battles, land and otherwise, who, while able, worked out faithfully every order given him, from wiping the dew off refuse barrels to sacrificing a happy home to go up where the mud and blood was thickest. General Pershing promoted him to the grade of Sergeant in appreciation of the good services rendered. He is a credit to Essex County.

An exflorist with a most fluent line developed by selling bouquets to brides and wreaths to widows. A man with such luck that if he were pushed into a sewer he would emerge in evening clothes. A "red-dog" player par excellence, but a much better opponent at bridge than partner. Knows every politician in Boston from Johnnie Fitz. to Jerry Watson. Was made postmaster because he was the only man in the outfit who had enough ready cash to buy stamps for nurses and take a chance on collecting. Will probably own a block of houses on Salem or Green streets when the rest of us are peddling books or trying to sell sewing machines.

"Dave" had two good qualifications for a sergeant; he was a graduate of the N.C.O.'s Prep. School and he also knew the high sign. He is a theoretical prohibitionist. "Down with rum" is Dave's theory and he practises it. An ardent admirer of Waacs and a secret devotee of the Army Nurse Corps. Dave's greatest delight was to doll himself up in his swank suit and gossip with the nurses at one of our cinema shows.

A sergeant who didn't function after a trip to Boulogne à-la-officier. A good-looking, hotheaded individual who always came near getting himself and others into difficulty. Was cook for a long time, but fell out with the cook's union because he didn't spend sixty per cent of the government's time pressing clothes.

Assigned to unit, Fort Totten, May 11, 1917. Returned with unit.

"Muscles" Diehl, commonly known in Cambridge as "Lefty," is a very versatile and accomplished young man. He plays baseball naturally, is good at football, more or less proficient at billiards, and scored the hit of his life when he sang "Somewhere in France" with our concert party. Muscles has been popular enough to be elected to two clubs while in France. The first was the far-famed "Mangee" (Cambridge for "manger") Club, and later he proved himself worthy of membership in the "Coucher" Club, which is far more exclusive. Coming from Cambridge, Muscles was handicapped at the start; but by his cheerful ways and winning smile ha succeeded in living this down, and has made a host of friends in the unit.

Flung proudly to the breeze at 36 Webster Avenue, Cambridge, Mass., is a splendid service flag. "Somewhere in France," at Base Hospital No. 5, you will find its representative, "Smiling" Ed Donovan. Being the only son, and youngest member of a family of six children---also a warm friend of Julian Eltinge and Mrs. Vernon Castle ---it is not surprising to find in "Eddie" many of the gentler and finer characteristics common among the fair sex. Possessor of a large amount of tact and diplomacy, which must have been essential in a family of five sisters, he is extremely popular among those with whom he works. Domestic science and culinary arts are Eddie's specialty; but among other talents he enumerates landscape gardening, interpreter of ancient and modern poetry, as well as impersonator of the well-known artists, Beverly Bayne, Eva Tanguay and Theda Bara.

"Buck" was one of the forty recruits and the official fire builder. He would do the trick while the gang marked time. Often after reveille he and his partner, Joe Goldie, made up the heavyweight knock-'em-dead twins. We hand it to him as a member of the W.A.A.C. Hunter Club. Tell 'em about the Henriville Mud Park. "Après la guerre" when there were no more Huns to be killed he turned artist and "swung the lead" for a long time in the "Q. M. Corps." Frank also belonged to the famous "Millionaire and Paupers" Club, but managed to hang on to a few "clackers" for the church army daily.

Let me remind you of one of our most famous mud-and-blood heroes---John Donovan---construction expert, automobile surgeon and food controller. Originator of one of the most immortal speeches ever made, "Consider the soup."

Private. Joined unit, Boulogne-sur-Mer, April 22, 1918. On detached service with Mobile Hospital No. 6, A. E. F., September 8, 1918, to January 7, 1919. Transferred to St. Aignan-Noyers for reassignment January 16, 1919.

A specimen from Virginia, and if our assumptions are correct he had better stay from there because if he tries to go home in uniform some public-spirited citizen will undoubtedly shoot him for a revenue officer. During his stay with us Roy has always worked hard and faithfully. He has been known to differ with John Donovan over the merits of the men's mess and food served there, but we are in full sympathy with Roy in all he said on that historic occasion. He is given at times to rave about the land that produced Washington and Jefferson. Yes, Virginia has produced some great men, but she should be nearly ready to throw up the sponge after producing "Dud."

See there, Eddie Dugan, who sits upon a stool, in the dental laboratory making teeth and silver rings of Napoleon's fine effigy. But making teeth and kings are only side issues of Eddie's great genius. In fact, they engage little of his attention, which is wholly concentrated on a very worthy object; namely, the care and management of a ward on a scientific basis. Now Eddie has never been a ward orderly, at least not for long, and we may wonder why this great project has so occupied his mind. Wonder not, ye unobserving, but know that Ward 1-A, which Eddie has chosen for this experiment, is peculiarly adapted to the workings thereof. Let us hope the results obtained may be worthy of your efforts, for you are very faithful to your task, Eddie.

"Sunny Jim," with a smile all over his face all the time. For a long time Eddie reigned supreme in the Q. M. Supply Depot. When he wasn't there you could find him either at the fumigator or in the kitchen or in one of the wards or downtown somewhere. With his fashionably trained eye and his efforts to please, Eddie was largely responsible for the neat and trim appearance Base Hospital No. 5 made. The King often remarked about this when Carl Clifford or another one of those fashion-plate men passed by. Eddie had a way about him that set many a mademoiselle's heart fluttering, and some say he barely escaped being torn to shreds one. time when two fair damsels each claimed him. He felt a keen desire to get a "poke" at the Kaiser and left us in September, 1918, with Mobile Unit No. 6 to accomplish great things (see author's note). Dunn returned with the same people years afterwards, only to be shipped away again with the next carload.

AUTHOR'S NOTE.---The following is taken from Pifford's "What to do in Time of War," a well-known history of the quiet conflict: "Mobile Hospital No. 6 after actually, purposely and deliberately carrying their mattresses and other equipment a mile or two in front of our line pitched camp in order that a much-needed rest and sleep might be obtained, so essential was the din of battle to those cold and heartless officers, nurses and medical men."

Cooking grub for soldiers is just a bit different from turning griddles in Child's lunch, but Steve made the jump successfully. Considering the material Steve had to work with he acquitted himself with honor, and if there is any distribution of medals for cooks and kitchen mechanics, he ought to get one. Favorite hobby was collecting souvenirs, such as German hats and helmets, which, considering the fact that he bought them in a German store, have a great sentimental value. Being a master in his own domain it was sometimes rather tough on the boys who had to work for the autocrat. Oftentimes in the mess, words that sounded like prayers were wafted in through the open door, some being the exhortations of Cook Dumont to his helpers to be more circumspect in their movements.

Most of us when we are grandfathers will begin our yarns with, "When I was in the great war," but we think Charlie Edwards will stick to his old line, "When I was in Cuba in '98." Charlie got into the War Department records first when he came within a foot of eternal bliss at Camiers, a bomb dropping on each side of him. Later on there was considerable correspondence, due to the fact that Charlie was reported dead. This was only partially correct, as the lower part of Charlie is still alive. A conscientious, hard-working, efficient N. C. O., Charlie will be remembered as one of the best of the old-timers.

"Bob" is a very widely read young man of the world, and is more or less of a philosopher, hence his "nom de guerre." He is not very loquacious, but when he does speak it is usually to the point. At times he is inclined to be rather a cynic. He is an expert with a camera, and in connection with our X-ray Department has done fine work as our official photographer. He rose rapidly to this exalted position from a lowly start as errand boy. I will say, though, that he was the best-looking messenger boy we ever had.

"Bob" first braved the horrors of publicity at Camiers at our first concert. He stepped nobly to the front of the stage and announced, "You fellows (meaning our British brethren) think that we Americans are afraid. Just to prove that we're not, I'll speak a piece!" And he did. Since then he has favored us with several selections, mainly from Robert W. Service's poems. Bob has many virtues and but one grave fault---he likes the ladies. And they all fall for him. Get a look at him in his swank suit, and you will understand.

Sergeant. Enlisted with unit, Boston, May 7, 1917. Invalided to U. S. April 24, 1918.

"Buddie" Fisher from Mississippi. Who will ever forget that smiling countenance or that presiding presence in the nurses' mess? A cook par excellence who saw his friends right on more than one occasion. Spent two most enjoyable leaves in Paris, and was then ready to come home with us, but was lost at Brest. He tells us that he will always be glad to welcome any of us in his native Quitman.

As a ward orderly "Roy" made a hit both with the patients and the nurses, but following his sumptuous spreads on night duty the food shortage in Boulogne became so acute that drastic measures of conservation were necessary and he was accordingly reduced to second Supreme King in the Company Office, where he eventually rose to the grade of Sergeant. It was on leave that Roy scored his greatest social triumph when the Bishop of Lourdes invited the Marquise of Zanzibar and the Duchess of Noakcount to meet him at an afternoon tea in the Palais de Glace. The menu was one of Epicurean delicacy, and only he can pronounce the varied viands with their proper seasonings. When Roy gets down to brass tacks again the world will own a perfect gentleman.

Frank never makes much noise and has never to the knowledge of any one done anything of a really wild nature. He likes France. In fact, he went so far one time in Paris as to shout "Vive la France." He has one passion, Gothic architecture, and has gone on several cathedral hunts through France. He also took a lesson in Russian once and when in Paris bought a Russian newspaper and read it during a French play at the Odéon, an extraordinary feat of intellect, we say. An epidemic of chess struck the unit toward the close of our stay in France, and Frank proved himself the match of anybody at this delightfully snappy game. Frank is sort of a sphinx, but not quite like the one of Egyptian fame. He is alive. He has a heart that beats and a stomach that gets empty. This last fact has caused him to look life in the face, a thing the Egyptian sphinx has never had to do. Frank is going to try and make a living in Bend, Ore., after the war.

Private. Medical Department, U. S. Army. Assigned to unit, Fort Totten, May 11, 1917. Detached December 5, 1918.

"Packy" might have become an alderman, but, alas, we fear this prohibition stuff will put the kibosh on his ambish. Because, according to Packy, the way to win friends and votes is to supply unlimited quantities of free beer, and when you get your audience in a state of semi-inebriety, tell 'em what a good fellow you are. But how can you make a man happy on this two per cent stuff ? It can't be done. Packy has an original line of dry Irish humor and a much more original line when it is wet. Freeley's French has become famous as the most horrible crime ever perpetrated against that classic language. Packy went with the Mobilers and became a Sergeant. They put him to work in the dispensary because he was such a good mechanic.

A young blond chap who helped Ronnie King to run the reception tent for the first months in Camiers. However, the young man set out to capture a record and tried to corral all the P. U. O. bugs in France. So he spent most of his time in the hospital, and was eventually invalided home.

A delicate and fragile frame, a dreamy and abstracted air, seem to mark him as a man unfit to cope with this wicked world. His very name, Paul Frost, suggests cold and passionless aesthetic reveries. 'Tis time, indeed. Many a time has he flitted from town hall to town hall of old Belgium and beelike gathered nectar of beauty from each. And even when he sweeps out grounds with gentle caressing strokes of the broom, soft and slow, he seems a creature apart, brooding upon the beauties of the Middle Ages. That such a man should have joined the Army is incredible but true. And never did man enter into the Army spirit more fully. His snappy and ever ready salute, accompanied by a sharp click of the heels as he springs to a rigid attention, is enough to delight even the C. O.'s heart. And so particular about little rules is he that when orders were issued forbidding men to appear in half-dress, in the mess hall, he actually insisted on wearing his overcoat as well. But every picture has its reverse. The army has in him a model soldier (others please copy), but alas it has corrupted him. Instead of wanting to spend his spare time on his couch meditating beautiful visions he now hankers after the flashy notoriety of the underworld. Did he not spend a week in Paris on a few paltry sous? And, let me add, the Parisian police never passed a busier week. But even the most skilful birds are caught in snares, and our "Ace of the Underworld" knows what it is to languish occasionally behind the bars. Alas, alas, how decadent is our modern world where a man cannot first write a sonnet and then poniard an enemy. Is it not. so, as Emerson says, that to be great is to be misunderstood?

This young man deserves more than passing mention at the hands of the editors. He can explain anything in the universe to the satisfaction of any one, particularly if it be of a scientific nature. He is also the only man who has ever succeeded in getting Larry Cain's goat. For our first six months in France he was the postmaster, but the casualties to green envelopes was so heavy that they were forced to put him into the X-ray Department. Here his environment has consisted of sparks and blue flame, and he has surely made good on the job. We predict a brilliant future for him if he can shake the gang of rough-necks that he has been forced to associate with in the sergeant's mess.

Can any one tell where this unit would have been from the viewpoint of music, if it had not been for Jack? He is the best we have, and some may equal him, but few can lead him in his line of playing the piano. Don't overlook the way he plays the typewriter.

"Jerry" was born in Gloucester, Mass., and says he was educated there, although we doubt this greatly. He knows too much for Gloucester; never could he acquire his discriminating tastes there. He savors of the big towns. He is a great connoisseur of beauty and wines, and knows his cards, too. Jerry says: "This war has not been run right. If a fellow wants to lean against the Hotel Folkstone with his coat unbuttoned, his hands in his pockets and smoking cigarettes, he should be allowed to do so. Why should we answer convoys if we don't want to? Guess I will promote another 'Air-raid Ticket Sale.' On with the dance, let joy be unconfined!'. He has made many friends who always find him ready with a smile and a helping hand.

For the best biography of "Red" Getchell one should consult any member of the W.A.A.C. 's.. They see much more of him than we do. We can always see him in the canteen every morning at coffee time. Then we envy him as he drinks an eye opener of coffee and tells us a long line about the little queen of the khaki girls whom he met the night before at the Waac dance. At drill he is a bear; he is often the only man in the detachment who is in step.

Sergeant, first class. Medical Department, U. S. Army. Assigned to unit, Fort Totten, May 11, 1917. On detached service with Mobile Hospital No. 6, A. E. F., August 21, 1918, to October, 1918. Transferred to A. R. C. Hospital No. 9. Paris, for duty October, 1918.

An elderly man and a fair young damsel were walking across the city square of Melrose, Mass. Observing a splendid monument, the fair one inquired, "In whose honor is this monument erected, Daddy?" "That, my child, is the stone erected in honor of the town's three most distinguished citizens." "Daddy, dear, pray who are these three distinguished citizens?" "My child, they are Geraldine Farrar, Fresno Dan Russell and Gordon 'Mike' Glover." "But, Daddy, dear, who is Gordon 'Mike' Glover?" "He was the first citizen of this fair city to volunteer his services in the great war." "And what did he do in the great war, Daddy?" "My child, he enlisted with Base Hospital No. 5. He was the only man to make the 'acrobatic overseas' cap an object of admiration instead of ridicule." His celebrated smile was an inspiration to all who had battled on the shell-torn fields of Picardy. As assistant postmaster, ward-master and pot wrestler he was equally efficient. He might have been a sergeant, but he didn't know the grip.

Deep-sea species of porpoise, but as good-natured as he is big. Has helped to make the men's mess what it is---namely, a mess. A charter member of the Couchee, Mangee and One Way clubs.

A right proper young gentleman whose virtue might well be compared to that of St. Anthony. By his painstaking efficiency he attained to the honor of First Sergeant, in which position he has made himself so popular that several of the men have offered to contribute flowers for his funeral. Has been twice to Paris in company with Sergeant Cain, on both of which occasions that charming young gentleman disappeared the day of arrival, as he desired to see all the churches and found Golding too fast for him. Sergeant Golding missed out getting into the air service which was mighty lucky for the Boche. He also failed to get a commission in the Sanitary Corps by forty-eight hours, showing that the gods are not always with the most virtuous.

"Duke" Gould, better known as "Mississippi"; has a weakness for entertaining. By singing, as a member of the Whizzbangs, he was a huge success. Some one says that the only proof of ability is Action. If so, Duke has his share. He is full of it. His big misfortune in life is the fact that he comes from Cambridge, the home of Culture; but I've no doubt he'll live it down after a while. As a soldier in Base No. 5 he is one of the shining lights.

We first saw Fred at the Harvard Medical School when he enlisted as a compressed-air student, and as we have known him longer, we have liked him better. No man has ever been able to get Fred's goat although he has been the champion goat getter of the unit. He is often found basking in the sunshine in the companionship of some one from his native New York. The city of skyscrapers is his particular hobby, but America is his religion.

Called "Speed" of course for his lightning ability to accomplish more than any one else in the unit. Chiefly sleep. A friend of Chaplain Peabody's, for Speed never stayed out nights. He spent many nights at church or in the Church Army Hut drinking tea, also a few in the clink. If dreams come true, he will some day own a café, and be his own bartender.

Bill Gray famed for some of the work he did not do, but nevertheless happy as a lark. Let Bill tell you about his three days' trip in Belgium. "Razz" is a stanch member of the Mangee and Couchee clubs, a high-class entertainer, a great favorite with the sisters and was always welcomed in F Hut with rousing cheers. Bill also upholds the reputation of being the bad man from Roxbury.

The original "jazz" artist of Base Hospital No. 5. A callow youth whose entire being is wrapped up in syncopated music. Believes Irvin Berlin a greater master than Mozart. For some unknown reason, probably because of his love of hard work, jazz preferred to depart from the unit to parts unknown with the gentlemen of Mobile Hospital No. 6. The future historian of this unit may recount with pride the doings of Jazz Greeley after he reached the casualty depot, but when last heard of he was wallowing in mud and begging piteously to be allowed to return to his first love. Old Horace Greeley used to repeat, "Go west, young man, go west." It's too bad Jazz didn't stick to the old man's counsel instead of going to St. Aignan.

Above the turmoil of voices and the smashing of dishes in the Mess Hall rises a strenuous voice, "No, by heck; you're all wrong from beginning to end. Now listen to me." You expect the possessor to rise on his hind legs like a lion and rend his opponent in pieces, but no, under his irate ways, Aby has a kindly heart. Lucky the patient who has excited his sense of pity; he will do everything for him that the crankiest sick man can exact. Furthermore, Aby pursues culture more hotly than a hound does a fox, or a "Jock' an army rum jar. "Let me see,---er---that's Gothic, isn't it?" he queries as he views the handsome railroad station. Books on economics, agriculture, French history, all go pell-mell into the hopper which is to grind the gist of a college education. And when it comes to chess, Aby is so keen that he would even be willing to slight his military duties.

Just because his cheeks are full and ruddy, and his voice a clear tenor, don't make the mistake of calling Frank, "Boy" or "Youngster," for you're apt to be bowled over by a well-seasoned frown. Ever since Camiers days "Gregg" has been classified in the office records as a star orderly. When work is most pressing, he is cool and collected, and with a pipe hung contentedly from the corner of his mouth, not even a bomb can disturb him. At the C. C. S. he frequently stopped whizzbangs with one hand and passed instruments to Captain Towne with the other, but, being modest and retiring, Frank seldom speaks of these exploits. Watch him juggle maconochie and watered milk in the Mess Hall and judge for yourself.

"Mungé" Haggerty, one of our members in high standing (but behind in his dues), would rather shoot crap than eat. Originator of that famous phrase, "Shoot a ha'penny." He was accused and found guilty of stealing the W. A. A. C.'s pie. He also tries to play the base drum in our band and has such a pleasing personality he attracts all the Waacs in our vicinity. At present acting as a guard, and like all proper policemen trying to keep out of sight when wanted.

As you dally with the last precious spoonfuls of your rice, your blissful reveries are suddenly interrupted by a huge voice, raucous, awe-inspiring as the "tromp of doom," "Come there, short stories." As you look up, you see a thunder-cloud visage far different from the wreathed smiles which beamed upon you as you received some minced meat, with the gently murmured admonition, "One potato." Yet find no fault with this man of many cares, our Hoover. All his previous business experience at "Louis' " has made him unquestionably the man for the job. While we sleep, he turns and returns in his mind, the problem of what new delicacy he can next tickle our palates with, and recently in view of a threatened shortage of maconochie, he made an extended tour of the battle front.

"Doc," our most constant French student, is always to be found jabbering away like a native with every French person he runs across. Being so fond of the French he is attempting to get a discharge over here in order to prolong his stay in Paris, as the Bohemian life of the Latin Quarter appeals to his free-thinking nature. He has probably seen more service than any other member of the unit on the guard, and well proved his watchfulness a few nights before leaving Boulogne in discovering and extinguishing a fire, which, had it been allowed to burn unhindered five minutes longer, would have made a good bonfire of our Recreation Hut.

One of the squarest and best the "auld sod" has produced. Somewhat inclined to Sinn Feinism and an ardent defender of home rule. We cannot say anything too good of Johnnie Harrington. Whatever job they put him on, whether he liked it or not, he did his work without complaint and did it well. A good, straightforward, dependable fellow, his brand of Sinn Feinism is the kind we want in the U. S. to-day.

We remember hearing something about Damariscotta many years ago in connection with a murder, and the name never again came to our notice until we ran across J. P. Hatch. Since then we have often figured that Damariscotta may again be mixed up in a murder case, this time with the aforesaid Hatch playing a very important part. As an advertising agent for jerk Maine towns, J. Philip certainly shines, and the Maine Central Railroad will have to make it at least two trains a day when we get home, as many of us have a burning desire to see if there are any other specimens like Hatch extant at the present time. Like many another modest violet, Phil was blooming unseen until discovered by Colonel Lee, who saw in Hatch fine material for an officer in the Sanitary Corps, observing that he never worked unless he had to. So Hatch became a Sergeant, but he still retained his puerile propensities, such as yo-oh-ing for two minutes when his name was called in any formation. Owing to his country training, Hatch is a great lover of flowers and he prefers the modest daisy to the more vivid rose. The daisy, Phil has often remarked, reminded him of his girl back home. We do not know whether he meant because it was beautiful or because it was wild. After Phil was discovered they put him in the Linen Stores, where he had a gang of retainers like an old-time baron. They all swore by him he was so generous. They could have anything they wanted in his department, provided it didn't belong to him. After three numbers of "The Vanguard" were issued they turned the magazine over to him and he has managed to develop it into a pretty creditable publication containing some good stuff except what he wrote himself. Phil has such a charming personality that we believe he could make a success selling sewing machines to Fiji Islanders or collecting money for wounded Germans. He may be a little fond of practical jokes, but the child will undoubtedly outgrow this failing. Damariscotta and Phil Hatch will be forever linked together in our memory.

When we left Boston we all were of the opinion that Heiberg was a Fritz, and the authorities evidently were of the same opinion, because he had to furnish proof of being a Norwegian at Fort Totten. A square, good-natured chap, who started out with his broken English and soon had the respect of every one in the unit. Such is Heiberg. He was demobilized in France and proceeded to Norway to see his parents, but we are glad to know that he will return to the U. S. A.

When we first laid eyes on Roy, back in those enthusiastic days when we were all green recruits, we wondered if by any chance we had made a mistake and enlisted in the Boy Scouts of America instead of the U. S. Army. Roy filled the position of "baby of the unit" and "mascot," only relinquishing the latter exalted job when our good friend Charlie Edwards acquired "Jack." Dan Cupid first got a stranglehold on him in Weidem, where his heart was lost to one so young that her knowledge of her native tongue was even less than the little Roy had acquired during the few months he had been in France. At that time Roy had become such an accomplished linguist that he thought "après la guerre" meant "pie."

The "Kid" was quite a pugilist, and showed up well in a few of our amateur contests, but when he put on the mitts against John Barleycorn was forced to take the count. We lost track of Roy when he went along on McGann's "blood and mud" expedition, but we understand that he turned out to be a good soldier, and proved his worth. The hardships he endured with the rest of them "up in the Argonne" took none of his good humor away, for the day he reappeared in Boulogne he had a big cigar stuck into that same old eternal smile.

Even in temper, even on keel, Bill carries his stocky figure in a manner well to be envied by the most opulent bank president. His quiet ways and sunny smile prove that environment is not the all-dominating factor in his life, but rather a cheerful philosophy and the ability to "parlez vous." Although the Corporal, in his daily round of duty, applies constantly the maxim, "One good turn deserves another," he will, nevertheless, "cut you dead" without a qualm. With his successful practice in the morgue, and the assurance of the unit's continued patronage, Bill's future is amply secure. We are clay in his hands.

Oliver joined the unit as official camera bearer to Colonel Cushing and because of this arduous task was made a Sergeant. Demoted for the same reason while en route to France and fasted for three days in consequence, which is not strange when we remember that the privates fasted the whole trip across. He was one of the "mud and blood" boys, in which outfit he made good. Returned to the old unit in January, 1919, and started home with the old bunch, but was transferred to the Entertainment Department and stayed in France until midsummer.

Next to Cliff Burgess the champion pessimist of the outfit. Has never yet eaten anything or seen anything that satisfied him. We bet that even this write-up will not please him. One of the Mobile "mud and blood" boys who bellowed for a gas mask before he came within fifty miles of the Germans. An amateur comedian---very amateur---he helped organize the Concert Troupe. Has played on many one-night stands all over the U. S., which may account for his tendency to duck when a hand is raised in the audience. What Hooley needs is a full course in Pelmanism.

Commonly known as the "Grummy" artist. Most generally broke, but still he has lots of confidence. Editor of the "Bulletin." He has not much use for tea, Woodbines, cheese and maconochie. His favorite hobby is naming the girls whose hearts he has broken. Great friend of "Heppy," our respected Adjutant.

A young gentleman with an original line. "I'm with you, boys, if you're with me" stuff lasted just about three months and then the ax fell. However, it was no sinecure to try to handle a couple of cooks like Maddy and Nickerson. Joe went with the boys to the A. E. F. and has the same line of dope to tell about wallowing in mud and blood. He recovered three of his stripes during this period and can now give them all the merry ha-ha. Intends to go back into the hotel business. We understand that the managership of that new 2200-room New York house is still open.

A ruddy-faced, healthy young man who aspires to be a doctor. For the past two years Louie has specialized in khaki girls and other bugs. The latter he calls by their nicknames.

A young man with a peaches-and-cream complexion; the idol of all the nurses in the unit and of all the Waacs in the area. But even this did not make Walt forget Spring Hill, and every day he met the mail orderly to relieve him of half his load. With his ready smile and keen sense of humor, we predict that he will go far in his chosen profession.

The ever-sunny "Jack." Who can remember him any other way? Always "seeing you right," too, whether you were a patient or another No. 5 man (or girl). More than one fellow will remember with gratitude the hospitality of B-6 in Camiers when, of a stormy night after carrying stretchers through the rain and cold, there came a lull in the convoy, or towards morning the section was dismissed, and he felt hungry and all fatigued, and in need of a bit of cheering; all he had to do was to go down between A and B lines till he smelled coffee, then follow the aroma till he found himself lifting the tent flaps of B-6. Inside would be Jack, making comfortable his newly arrived patients, and on the oil heater or the table he would find coffee and toast. Jack was versatile, too; he could always show you just how a soldier should dress, and he could supply you with itineraries for evening walks anywhere about the Boulogne area, or farther.

"Swede" hails from Orange, Mass., and that seems a logical reason for his sweet, optimistic temperament. He was educated at Tufts College and is certainly a credit to his training. You should see Swede in action to appreciate his ability. He can juggle tables and chairs with ease, and it is nothing for him to hold several men on his sturdy shoulders. On convoy duty, stretcher cases are never so well handled when Swede is not on the job. He is of a musical temperament and belongs to our "Mandolin Club." Swede has a host of friends in the unit and is a very likable fellow, with his smile and ready wit.