Yesterday was New York “Old Home Day” on the roads of Lorraine. We marched out from Baccarat on our hunt for new trouble, and met on the way the 77th Division, all National Army troops from New York City. It was a wonderful encounter. As the two columns passed each other on the road in the bright moonlight there were songs of New York, friendly greetings and badinage, sometimes good humored, sometimes with a sting in it. “We’re going up to finish the job that you fellows couldn’t do.” “Look out for the Heinies or you’ll all be eating sauerkraut in a prison camp before the month is out.” “The Germans will find out what American soldiers are like when we get a crack at them.” “What are you givin’ us,” shouted Mike Donaldson; “we was over here killin’ Dutchmen before they pulled your names out of the hat.” “Well, thank God,” came the response, “we didn’t have to get drunk to join the army.” More often it would be somebody going along the lines shouting “Anybody there from Greenwich Village?” or “Any of you guys from Tremont?” And no matter what part of New York City was chosen the answer was almost sure to be “Yes.” Sometimes a chap went the whole line calling for some one man: “Is John Kelly there?” the answer from our side being invariably, “Which of them do you want?” One young fellow in the 77th kept calling for his brother who was with us. Finally he found him and the two lads ran at each other burdened with their heavy packs, grabbed each other awkwardly and just punched each other and swore for lack of other words until officers ordered them into ranks, and they parted perhaps not to meet again. At intervals both columns would break into song, the favorites being on the order of “East side, West side, All around the town, The tots sang ring-a-rosie London Bridge is falling down, Boys and girls together, Me and Mamie O’Rourke, We tripped the light fantastic On the sidewalks of New York. The last notes I heard as the tail of the dusty column swung around a bend in the road, were “Herald Square, anywhere, New York Town, take me there.” Good lads, God bless them, I hope their wish comes true. MORIVILLE _June_ 22nd, 1918 Our first day’s march brought us to Moyemont, our second a short hike to Moriville, where we are waiting to entrain at Châtel-sur-Moselle. I am billetted with the Curé and have sent Father McDonald, an old pupil of mine who has just been sent to me, to the 2nd Battalion. He is not well enough to stand what we will have to go through, so I have sent a telegram to Bishop Brent asking to have him kept for a time at some duty where he can regain his health.