THE sweet, clear notes of a bugle come faintly up to me through the cool air of morning, and as the sound dies away I hear the great guns begin their bombardment, the rumbling echoes merging into the matin chimes wafted across the valley from some small church as yet unscarred by Mars.

Reveille, the summons, calls man from his peaceful, prenatal slumber, rouses him and bids him prepare for what the world will send him. Man goes forth to meet the world, and struggles through his allotted time until the bells of God ring for him to fold himself in his soul and sleep.