THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 



69 



This one change having- been made and 

 the forfeited talent having been given to 

 a government that has proved its ability, 

 then the dream for these long-oppressed 

 lands can become a reality. But this 

 change should not mean the handing of 

 Turkey over to be divided up into 

 "spheres of influence" to satisfy colonial 

 ambitions, no matter how long cherished, 

 nor the breaking up of the country into a 

 series of petty States, thus repeating the 

 Balkan menace ; but it should mean 

 giving this land a good reorganizing gov- 

 ernment backed by the much-hoped-for 

 League of Nations. 



With this good government the coun- 

 try, which has long been an unsanitary 

 plague spot, a constant health menace to 

 Europe, will be cleaned up ; adequate 

 schools will be provided ; courts of justice 

 will replace those of injustice; proper 

 means of transportation will be con- 

 structed; industries will spring up and 

 the resources of mountain and plain will 

 contribute their share to the support of 

 the world. 



"Then shall the wilderness blossom as 

 the rose" and "every man shall sit under 

 his own vine and under his own fig tree 

 and none shall make them afraid." 



A DAY WITH OUR BOYS IN THE 

 GEOGRAPHIC WARDS 



By Carol Corey 



Author oe "From the Trenches to Versailles" and "Plain Tales erom the Trenches" 



The splendid work which the members of the National Geographic Society 

 are supporting is described by the author, zvho reveals the brave and cheerful spirit 

 in which American youths endure their wounds and faithfully records the language 

 in zvhich they express their appreciation of the provisions which have been m-ade 

 for their care and comfort. 



THE first time I visited what used 

 to be called the American Ambu- 

 lance Hospital at Neuilly, just out- 

 side of Paris, and what is now American 

 Military Hospital No. I, I lost a lot of 

 my horror of such places. 



It was a glorious afternoon in early 

 spring. On almost every street corner 

 an old woman was selling flowers. There 

 were marguerites and tall, graceful sprays 

 of tiny button-roses, and a perfect wealth 

 of lilacs. I bought a great many of the 

 lilacs, though they were expensive, for I 

 knew that our boys would like them 

 better than most anything else. They're 

 such a homey flower. The scent of lilacs 

 recalls the yard at home and stands for 

 the reawakening of spring and all that 

 that means. 



I told my particular old lady that the 

 lilacs were for the American wounded, 

 and she sniffed and said she hadn't heard 

 there were; any. The taxi driver de- 

 manded an extra franc-fifty for what 



called a supplement, though I called it a 

 hold-up. 



At the hospital I found less than fifty 

 soldiers — a few slightly wounded, the 

 rest sick only. The warm, sweet breeze 

 was swaying the curtains, and the new 

 leaves on the trees just outside the win- 

 dows were sparkling after a heavy 

 shower. The nurses were reading or 

 embroidering, and I remember one fellow 

 said it smelled "just like fishin' time." 

 Another assured me that although the 

 Yanks had done nothing as yet, "it 

 wouldn't be long before Fritzie 'd know 

 they were in it." 



And it wasn't. A few weeks later I 

 made my second trip to Neuilly. The 

 lilacs had long since disappeared, but I 

 was able to take an armful of sweet peas 

 of every color. I bought out all that one 

 stand held, and when the little apple- 

 cheeked vender asked me why I needed 

 so many I told her. She insisted upon 

 taking two francs off the bill. "I am 



