Williams news., 1922-04-14

| two cases Tn the hospital, and .children dying in all cirners of
 Erivan. All day long we can
 hear the walls and groans of
 little children outside the of
 flee buildings hoping we can and
 will pick them up. It the sun
 shines a little while they quiet
 down; when it rains they begin
 again. One day when the rain l turned to snow it was awful to
 listen to them. The note of
 terror that came into the gen.
 eral vail was plainly percep-
 tible upstairs, and I had the
 windows closed. They we'll
 know what a night in the sn w
 would mean to them. We
 are picking them up as fast as
 possible, but it is fatal to crowd
 them to such a point that we would lose even those already in orphanage."
 Erivanu-that one time pros porous city of Armenia, not far from Mount Ararat, famous, in days of peace, for the peach or chards and vegetable gardens that surrounded it on every side. Walk through it's streets today, and here is what you will see: Children walking through the muddy gutters hunting for bits of orange peels apple cores, or anything that once resembled food little boys and girls sleeping in stables, with strad and manure spread over their bodies to keep them from freezing to death; or, in the early morning, deserted children lying in the doorways of the buildings, wrapped in old burlap bags, some silent, perhaps already dead, others sobblng unconsciously in their sleep. They have been placed there during the night by their mothers who, unable to feed them any longer, have resorted to desertion as a final chance to save their children's lives. There is alays chance that they will be rescued by the one hope that the mothers leave their little children, praying to God that they will be saved by the kind and generous Ameri- cans
 Has that story of unutter- able suffering, of passionate love and gratitude for what has been given, that trusting, pray erful appeal for rescue of child ren, whose lives now depend on us-has it all grown weari- some to us? Are we tired of being "kind and generous" Is there no longer any sacrifcial tenderness for little children in our hearts? Is it time to be rid of the burden, to stop our giving, and so, through the Boar of Trustees of the Near East Relief, who must act as we dictate, to pronounce the sen tence of death on these thous- ands of boys and girls who have believed, to the last moment, that we would save them?
 Mothers and fathers of America, it is not true! You will not allow it! Your hearts have not turned to stone: What are few paltry miles of distance! They can not sep crate you from that famine stricken land, where dead and dying children litter the city streets. They can not shut out from your vision those hunger pinched faces and outstretched hands! You can shut your windows, as they did, in very desperation, in the city of Fri van; but the walls and moans of little children, waiting iii rain and snow, by day and night, to be picked up" and clothed and fed, can not be shut out of your heart.
 From far-away station, by the magic of science, our homes are being filled with song. and story, and music for the dance. But there are messages more wonderful than any controlled by the wizards of wireless. They are coming now from far away, and the story they bring is burdened with tears. The | is not for dancing. for | those who make it can scarce | stand upon their feet. The