For Sergeant Edward Busick, smiling and happy with his reassignment papers safely tucked away in the pocket of his blouse under his half a foot of service ribbons, came back to report for duty. It took twenty years to do—but he’s done it. And the National Army of Freedom hasn’t any idea as yet how much richer in real soldier talent and color it is today. But a certain old campaigner, who used to be a first lieutenant of cavalry, knows. NO GREAT LOSS An American stopping at a London hotel rang several times for attendance, but no one answered. He started for the office in an angry mood, which was not improved when he found that the “lift” was not running. Descending two flights of stairs, he met one of the chambermaids. “What’s the matter with this dashed hotel?” he growled. “No one to answer your call and no elevator running.” “Well, you see, sir,” said the maid, “the Zeps were reported and we were all ordered to the cellar for safety.” “——!” ejaculated the American. “I was on the fifth floor and I wasn’t warned.” “No, sir,” was the bland reply, “but you see, sir, you don’t come under the Employers’ Liability Act, sir.” LETTERS FROM THE FRONT “LAST evening we went out into a field, and read Jane Austen’s ‘Emma’ out loud.” Do you get the picture? Can you see the fading glory of the sunset sky, and hear the soft breeze, sweetly laden with the scent of new-mown hay, as it murmurs through the gently rustling leaves—a real autumn scene of rural peace and quiet? Yes? Well, you are quite mistaken. That is an extract from a letter written by an ambulance driver on the French front. And so you see that war is not all horror. Emerson Low, the son of Alfred M. Low, of Detroit, went to France with a group of college boys. He joined the American Field Ambulance Service, and is now in the thick of the fighting in the Champagne district. The Detroit _Free Press_ prints some extracts from his letters to his family. In one he tells of his trip to the posts: Day before yesterday several of us started out for the posts. I carried the _médecin divisionnaire_ and went a little before the others. In spite of the fact that the fields are being recultivated and the searness of former battles is somewhat concealed, the road to the front is rather a grim affair, and you are startled when you pass through a town deserted and demolished. There is quite a large town between this one and the front. It is uninhabited except for a few soldiers and a yellow dog that slinks about in the doorways.