My dear poet friend,

What am I to say in the face of this new, alluring temptation that appears before me this morning, stamped with your signature — the noblest thing that could reach me as a token of the friendship that has stood firm between us for some thirty years and more, all of which have passed like the twinkling of an eye.

And here I sit up in my bed, resolved anew, and with firm determination, to remain — taking your collection of poems as the warrant for this insistent resolve to draw from life all that can be drawn, in defiance of fate itself.

And can this obstinate fate, I wonder — which has laid its hand on everything that might comfort my body — stand between me and the comforting of my spirit, on such an occasion as this, as I receive this generous outpouring of feeling?? No, upon my life! There is no power under the sun that can deny me the delight of stealing in among these pages, which will carry me back to days gone by, the days of youth and strength, when I would listen to Fayyad as he scattered and recited those precious pearls, and I would pray that his earthly house might fall to ruin, so that he might wander on, roaming through the world of dreams and distant visions, presenting us with those fragrant breezes which, in all their freshness and their force, still perfume the air of Arab literary circles in every region and every gathering..

And how beautiful is this simple, charming garment in which you have dressed it, my friend! — and this soft green color that grates on no nerve and offends no eye, this dreaming, tranquil color which you have perhaps picked out from among the hundreds of colors belonging to the green tribe during your latest ramble through the gardens of your bygone youth, while you were gathering and selecting the darlings of your heart, to fold them between the two wings of

this message which you wished to be in accord and harmony with your delicate feeling and your enchanting imagination!

And so it is, my friend! You have succeeded completely, for the result you sought has been achieved.

... In moments of deep inward emo-tion, the doyenne of our women of letters triumphs over her agonizing bodily pains, and the springs of her overflowing spirit burst forth in pure literature ... Perhaps the

latest of these works, as yet unpublished, is this gem which she sent to Dr. Nicolas Fayyad after he presented her with his book "Rafif al-Uqhuwan," and which she has reserved for "The Woman's Voice."

And I too have succeeded along with you: hardly had my eyes fallen upon this precious gift of yours, swaying between my hands in its charming, simple dress, than I almost fancied myself your partner in choosing the cover and the color .. Has not simplicity been, and does it not remain, my favorite watchword in every walk of my life? .. And how often, in my past days, did I call the daughters of my country to it, in writing and from the platform! ...

As for this green color, I counted it too as my own inspiration, since it is the color my soul adores for its silence and its remoteness from loud, colored advertisement; and since it is the only natural color with which I have kept in touch in my seclusion. Here is the dear green bough, looking in on me from the height of the one window through which I look out upon the world! — the bough I see swaying between death and life, clinging to the trunk of the mother tree, the only one that slipped away by stealth from the rest of her sister trees on the day they were all condemned to death at a single stroke!!

But for how long, I wonder, will the blessing of this bough last me? I do not know! — since it and its mother still occupy a few spans of ground at the rear of the lot, and this is not permissible by the custom of the people of this age, and of the town-planning and beautification bureaus of

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M. L. H. B.