The current issue of the Graduates' Magazine contains a vivid description by Professor R. B. Merriman '96 of his experiences in France and at the French front. Extracts of this article are given below:

The universities of England and France are bearing with cheerful heroism far more than their share of the terrible burden imposed by the present war. Without exception they have given lavishly of their very best. Many of the university grounds and buildings in Oxford and Cambridge are being used by the military and hospital authorities; the only students left in residence are cripples, Hindus, Americans, and women; most of the younger dons are at the front or on their way there, and a large proportion of the older ones are serving the cause in one way or another at home. All this has won for the two great English universities a place in the popular affection and esteem such as they have perhaps never occupied before. In France there is precisely the same tale to tell. The tragedy of the situation there is perhaps not as evident at first sight as in England; for the "plant" of the continental university is so much smaller than that of a residential institution like Oxford or Cambridge that the outward effects of its desertion are less immediately obvious. But a look beneath the surface or a talk with any of the academic people who remain will quickly reveal the true state of affairs. And yet, despite the overwhelming strain of it all, so devoutly does France believe in the necessity of maintaining in every possible way the continuity of her intellectual activities that no lecture and no academic occasion that could by any possibility be retained has been suffered to go by the board. The Sorbonne-Harvard exchange has gone on as usual; two Harvard professors have made the rounds of the provincial universities, and incredible as it may seem, the visitors have been made to feel that their hosts were really glad to see them and anxious to hear what they had to say. And there are few Harvard men who would not feel a real thrill of pride could they realize how deeply the French care for the good opinion and sympathy of this University--how strongly they desire "that Harvard at least should know the truth of this war," as they often expressed it. President Eliot's views concerning it have been widely read in France, and have created a profound impression there; whatever the rest of the United States may feel and do, the French look to Harvard for assurances of friendship and understanding. Only those who have recently been in France can understand how highly such assurances are prized there today.

French Front Fifty Miles Long.

To this desire, "that Harvard at least should know the truth of this war," I owe one of the most interesting days of my life--the 16th of last March--when I motored some fifty miles along the French front from Nancy through Lunecille to Gerbeviller and back, in company with the Mayor, and Recteur of the University of Nancy, and Professor Paul Petit, of the Faculte des Sciences there. On the previous day, during my lecture at the university, I had heard the cannon roar at Pont-a-Mousson, and though I was assured that there was came absolu along all the front that I was to visit, that the lines were two or three kilometers and more apart, and that in all probability nothing but artillery duels would occur, I felt that some little excitement was probably in store for me.

As soon as we left St. Nicholas evidences that we were in close proximity to the battle-line crowded in on us thick and fast. We passed several detachments of mud-stained infantry who bore unmistakable signs of having passed the previous night in the trenches. The fields on either side of the road were pitted with shell holes; many of the farmhouses were charred and roofless; and the plain wooden crosses which marked the graves of fallen heroes became increasingly frequent as we sped along. Some of the bodies had been buried so hastily that the spring rains and early ploughing had uncovered them, with the result that in many places the air was black with crows hovering about in search of carion. A strapping young peasant girl, whom we found later in the day doing two men's work in the heavy fields, told us a moving tale of how German soldiers had forced her at the point of the bayonet to dig graves for their fallen dead.

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From Hoeville we retraced our steps to Remereville and then north again to Erbeviller and Champenoux, which we entered from the south after another careful scrutiny by the sentry. The Mayor thought that by turning to the right we might ge out to Mazerulles and see some artillery in action. So we passed swiftly out of Champenoux to the eastward, only to be brought up after we had gone half a mile or so by a salvo from a battery of soixante-quinzes installed in a carefully concealed position close to the roadside. We were not 50 yards distant from the guns when they went off, and feeling that further advance might lead us into difficulties we stopped the car and got out.

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Confident of Final Result.

The ground in front of the battery was scored with trenches and parallels, and as the evening shades began to fall, squads of soldiers issued from them while others went forth to take their places. Most of them had not fired a rifle for several days and were getting a little weary of the calme absolute. Like the lieutenant-colonel who came from Metz and longed for his reverence, they yearned for the day of the great advance. It may still be a long time before it comes, but most of those who have seen the French army at work will await with serene confidence the final issue.