I took up my question and went roaming the streets in search of someone to answer me, scrutiniz-ing the faces of the passersby until they grew suspicious of my glances...

I entered a shop and found its owner busy pleasing his customers. I greeted him and told him the purpose of my visit...

He is Mr. Aziz Shibli, a self-made man, married, 45 years of age. I asked him to answer as to his wishes for the new year, and he said:

— I would like the new year to bring us a new war!

— No, no, Mr. Shibli! Have you no better wishes than that? Or perhaps you wish for war so that market prices will rise and you can gather a new fortune!

— God forbid, Madam! I am a humane man, and very easily contented. But I see the world being led by a certain number of men. They govern by turns and proclaim democracy while remaining very far indeed from applying it... And I find that the recurrence of wars improves this state of affairs and makes public opinion more aware and bolder in demanding a juster rule... That is the sole reason I wish for a new war: because we like to see new faces in government — faces that may prove more democratic than others. I do not mean our country in particular; I mean the whole

world... The situation is much the same in every land. Perhaps my thinking is strange, but this is my true feeling...

I thanked him and went out, and made my way down a street where the porters gather — some of them idle, asleep in the sun, others wide awake, their eyes hunting for a "customer" to charge them with carrying something... No sooner had one of them seen me approaching than he sprang up to ask my purpose... and drew back a step when he learned what I wanted, and that I carried no material profit for him. But I sensed in him an inborn simplicity and a light-hearted humor, so I drew nearer, and the following conversation passed between us:

— What is your name? — My name is Abd — Abd al-Halim Nasr al-Din. — How old are you? — I am 15 years old. — Where were you before you came down to Beirut? — I am from Nabatiyeh, ma'am, and I came last month. — What do you wish for yourself in the new year?

The matter grew complicated for the poor fellow, and he tried to get free of me; so I reassured him of my good intentions, and told him I would put his name in a big magazine! His face lit up, and pointing to another porter of gigantic build and full chest who stood near us, he said:

— I'd like to become strong like that porter standing there. Then I could carry the biggest load and never give out under it!

— And don't you aspire to better work than a porter's?

— Greed is no good, ma'am, and

big work keeps the mind busy. This way my head is clear. I make two liras a day, and that's enough for me, and I hope to save out of it until I marry.

So he is ambitious after all... and dreams of marriage at fifteen!

While I was deep in talk with the young porter I heard a greeting, and a voice asking what I was doing. I turned, and there was Mr. Elie Yazbek. I answered him:

— You tell me first: what are you doing here?

— I was in the company of a lady journalist. I helped her take pictures and gather information about the poor. She is going to write a report on them in the newspaper L'Orient.

— How strange! I am here on exactly the same sort of errand. So come, tell me your wishes for the new year!

— My wishes? I?!.. Shall I tell the truth?

— Of course — I want nothing but the truth.

— My wish is that the new year make it possible for me to leave "the island of rats" (he said this in French). So I said:

— For heaven's sake, speak to me in Arabic! What do you mean by that last phrase?

— I mean that I am "fed up," and