As we no doubt would be invited to sing, we first rehearsed several popular songs, holding forth with a gusto that raised the roof, even of the ancient and sturdy house of Barnicault. To the air of "Old Kentucky Home," Quinlan tried out our latest, A Song of Home: You may sing of Erin's Shannon flowing softly to the sea, The Thames where it passes London town; You may boast the bonnie Clyde where it mingles with the tide, And the Seine with its romance of renown. You may paint in blue the Danube or the far Italian Po, But of all the streams enshrined in memory, Is the good old Mississippi, that wherever I may go, Is the dearest one in all the world to me. CHORUS: Then sing the song, my comrades, O we'll sing this song today, That wherever we may roam, we'll sing a song of home For the dear old Mississippi far away. You may boast of Irish Nora, or sweet Bessey of Dundee, The charm of England's Geraldines so fair; You may choose the maids of Belgium or Ma'm'selles of Picardy All famed for grace and beauty everywhere. But if you will but listen, and leave the choice to me I'll point with pride to dear old U. S. A. Where there's maidens fair to see, sweet and dear as Liberty And never cloud o'ershadows beauty's day. CHORUS: Then sing this song, my comrades, O we'll sing this song today, That wherever we may roam, we'll sing a song of home For the maidens fair back home in U. S. A. A trench mirror four inches by six hung on the wall of my billet. There was a mad scramble for a last facial and tonsorial inspection; for each fellow boldly made his boast, "Just watch me, Bo, make the hit of the evening with Ma chere Miss Frenchy." Down the village street in column of twos we made our way. "All gentle in peace and all valiant in war, There never was Knight like the young Lochinvar." As we went singing carefree, secretly my heart was sad. As a Staff Officer I knew, although the boys did not, that this was to be their last evening party; that on the morrow they were to leave for the front line trenches; that many weary days, weeks and months of stern, bitter, deadly realities lay just before them; and I wanted them to at least enjoy this one last evening of home-spun, joyful valedictory. The Moidrey residence stood back a little from the road, protected by a tall iron fence of artistic design. As we drew near, my Minstrel Boys prudently "soft pedaled" their singing, so as not to over-alarm our kind host. Responsive to our sounding the huge brass, lion-headed knocker on the massive gate, the house door opened. Monsieur, Madame and Mademoiselle Annette came down the winding garden path to admit and welcome us.