ultan

My Moslem brother, this is sad, sad news,
So sad that I permit myself to mention
How much it modifies my sanguine views
Of Allah's intervention.

In that combine for holy ends and high
Of which I let him figure as the joint head
I must (between ourselves) confess that I
Am gravely disappointed.

Without his help I did the Balkan stunt,
But when I left him to his own devices
To operate upon a local front
He failed me at the crisis.

I could not run the show in every scene,
Not all at once; and Caucasus was chilly--
Fifty degrees of frost, which would have been
Bad for the health of WILLIE.

And then to think that he should let me down
When I was sore in need of heavenly comfort,
Making the Christian free of Erzerum town,
Which, as you know, is "some" fort.

Not that I mind the mere material loss,
But poor Armenia, hitherto quiescent,
Who sees the barbarous brigands of the Cross
Trampling her trusted Crescent!

True, you have spared the major part this pain,
But for the remnant, who escaped your heeding,
My heart (recovered, thank you, from Louvain),
Once more has started bleeding.

O.S.

* * * * *

MY WAR STORIES.

Did you ever try to write War stories? I am not alluding to Press
telegrams from Athens, Amsterdam or Copenhagen, but legitimate magazine
fiction. Once I was reasonably competent and could rake in my modest
share of War profits. But recently Clibbers, of the International
Fiction Syndicate, approached me and said, "Old man, do me some War
stuff. Anything you like, but it must have a novel climax."

"Not in a War story," I protested.

"Can you deliver the goods?" said Clibbers sternly.

After that what could I do but alter the stories I had in stock.

For example there was my fine story, "Retrieved." The innocent convict
(would that I had the happy innocence of the convict of fiction!)
emerges from Portmoor. In a few well-chosen words the genial old prison
governor (to avoid libel actions I hasten to say that no allusion is
made to any living person) advises the released man to make a new
career. The convict marches to the recruiting office and enlists. In a
couple of paragraphs he is at the Front; on the second page he saves the
Colonel's life, captures a German trench on page three, and in less time
than it takes to do it gains the V.C., discovers t