That's not a thrilling hymn to hear on the concert stage, but when you are lying in a trench with the smell of powder in your nose and the crack of rifles almost deafening you and bullets tearing up the ground around you like huge hailstones beating down the dirt, and you see before you a blockhouse from which there belches fourth the machine gun, pouring a torrent of leaden missiles, while from holes in the ground you see the leveled rifles of thousands of enemies that crack out death in ever-increasing succession and then you see a body of men go up that hill as if it were in drill, so solid do they keep their formation, and those men are yelling, 'There'll be a hot time in the old town to-night,' singing as if they liked their work, why, there's an appropriateness in the tune that kind of makes your blood creep and your nerves to thrill and you want to get up and go ahead if you lose a limb in the attempt And that's what those 'niggers' did.

You just heard the Lieutenant say, 'Men, will you follow me ?' and you hear a tremendous shout answer him, 'You bet we will,' and right up through that death-dealing storm you see men charge, that is, you see them until the darned Springfield rifle powder blinds you and hides them." "And there is another thing, too, that teaches a man a lesson.

The action of the officers on the field is what I speak of.

Somehow when you watch these men with their gold braid in armories on a dance night or dress parade it strikes you that they are a little more handsome and ornamental than they are practical and useful.

To tell the truth, I didn't think much of those dandy officers on parade or dancing round a ball room.