• The last thing penned by the late lamented man of letters Fouad Suleiman was this card, which he intended to address to the great physician Dr. Zekin Shakhashiri.

Dr. Shakhashiri supervised the treatment of the deceased throughout his illness; he was his favorite physician and the companion whose care and kindness eased our departed one's pains, calmed his spirit, and gave it a feeling of rest. He was bound to Fouad Suleiman by ties of brotherhood and of letters which led this physician — famed among physicians for his great humanity — to set the most splendid examples of sacrifice and self-denial.

Dr. Shakhashiri is professor of preventive medicine at the American University of Beirut; in public health projects his is the generous, well-thanked hand, and in the hearts of those who have known him as a physician who has vowed himself to the service of the people, he holds the lofty place occupied by men like him, the men of every noble effort.

And here is what Fouad Suleiman wrote to Dr. Shakhashiri:

"My dear Dr. Zekin: "When a man is able, my dear Doctor, to be — as you have been to me — physician and brother and friend, then that man stands at the clearest and purest height that

great humanity can reach... And you, Zekin, have been more than this to me; and you, in your very self, could not be other than this. "From my sickness, on my bed, I send you a greeting of homage and admiration, and my thanks and my love. "The signature"

Funerals — To the Spirit of Fouad Suleiman

The people's joy is no joy of mine,

nor were their cares ever like my care.

I pass the nights singing rhymes,

pouring the melody from the cup of my sickness.

I withdraw to be with those of my brothers who have died,

of whom nothing was laid in earth but a few bones.

For I have a brother, a poet, whom death has bitten

and made fragrant in a vast sea of giving;

and I have, out there, a young sister

whom I lost in the deaf darkness.

O time — whenever I call it to mind,

a longing saws at the heart and draws blood.

My breast is filled to the brim with those funerals

and with glooms, until my body has bent beneath the load.

Tomorrow, I say, will bring happiness to life —

but tomorrow is nothing but grief upon grief.

With the night I fold away one disease, and then

a new disease begins, coming with the morning.