Its a good thing we are leaving to-morrow to go toward the front for if we staid round her long the moral of our regiment would stand at about zero minus 5.

Yours until they chase the Kaiser to Holland with the balance of the windmills.

Barney.

On the Hike Nowhere in France.

Dere Julie: 

There shure is a bunch of widows over here, Both grass and sod.  I say little brighteyes, do you think it possible fer a guy to get hay fever from a grass widow?  Ennyhow Skinny got some kind uv fever when he was chummin round with these female comfort kits, and if they don’t lose his trail, I can see visions of a certain (what the dickens is that French word for fat—­oh yes, embumpoint), lady in Hoboken, N.J.U.S.A., lookin fer a new affinity.  In other words, unless the signs is misleading, Skinny is gonna lose his liberty by gettin married, and its the opinion of your “’Lil Brighteyes” that the speech of P. Henry of Va. on “Give me Liberty or give me deth” was made, more because he was married than because he was patriotic; and all the married men, I’m told Julie, are chirpin the same wheeze.  Of course with you derie, its different.  I don’t believe you would accuse a feller of keepin another woman when his pay envelope is a nickle shy on Sat. night.

Skinny and me had a date with the Pudding Sisters at the canteen last nite, and believe you me, they was some babies, and was well worth the money we spent on ’em.

Some people we met today from Belgium say that when the Fritzies get soused, they hug and kiss every woman they meet.  What a fat chance for that sweet maiden of fifty years who grabbed me off at the station, the day I left for camp.  You can bet your Wrigleys that after a regiment passed her she would make a detour and catch up with the head of it again.

Yours until Eyetalian restaurants serve real wine.

Barney.

P.S.  After readin this letter over I tho’t I’d better wise you up on that date me and Skinny had with the pudding sisters at the canteen last nite.  Women are so suspicious you know.  I ment we went down to the canteen to get some puddin, rice and tapioca.

“B.”

[Illustration:  She would run and ketch up with the hed of the perseshun]

Dere Julie: 

Your last lovin letter was rec’d by your little bright eyes in a quaint old burg in viva la France, just back of where the Yanks are making soup strainers of William the Twicer’s boobs by punchin them in the kitchen with that “wooden sword of America.”  You know Julie, that story that the Emp has been jabbing them in the arm with about “America couldn’t fite if she would, and wouldn’t if she could,” and tellin em also about Germany’s “submarines sinking all the Yanks transports etcery etcery.”  If Bill keeps this up very long they will nickname him Barnum.

Speaking of William the Twospot, reminds me of what one of our boys, which was taken prisoner and escaped, wuz telling about what the Emp said when he saw so many of our boys on the front at Chato Theiry; sendin fer some of his generals he deemanded they tell him what boat brung all them Yanks over.  One of ’em piped up and sed “I think, yer Majesty it was the Lusitania.”  Being German, it went over his bed like a air ship.