Shortly after one o'clock a huge gray limousine, rolling and pitching over the uneven ground, slid jerkily onto the field and stopped. Attention was blown, and the review began. Mounted on a magnificent horse, General Pershing rode at a gallop around the huge, solid square formed by the Division, and completing his tour, dismounted and proceeded to make a more detailed inspection, going between the ranks of each platoon.

                As this was a lengthy procedure, and the General started on the extreme right of the line, we were put at ease, and watched the review with great interest. It was an impressive sight. Away on our right, for at least a kilometer, stretched the dull, rigid mass of olive drab, the regimental and national colors, now unfurled, snapping in the light breeze, over the clustered bayonets which shimmered dully under the cloudy sky. Now and then we could catch a brighter gleam from the bands which were playing Sambre et Meuse, thundering out the magnificent chords of the soul-stirring French march. Suddenly attention was called and before we realized it, General Pershing was passing through our ranks, stopping now and then to question some wearer of a wound-stripe, but always hurrying, hurrying on under the cold, un­ responsive gaze of the ranks, as though he were per­ forming some boresome task which must be quickly done.

                Patiently we stood through the long ceremony of decoration, waiting dully for the final breakup. As we watched, a great hush came over the field, then a whistle shrilled, and the bands struck up a lively

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