The New York herald., 1922-04-13
Editorial from The Literary Digest Of April 18TH

hfty-two cases in the hospital and children dying
in all corners of Erivan. All day long can
hear the walls and groans of little children outside
the office buildings hoping and will pick
them up If the shines little while they quiet
down; when it rains they begin again. One day
when the rain turned to snow it awful to listen
to them. The note of terror that came into the
general wall plainly perceptible upstairs, and
had the windows closed. They well know what
night in the snow would mean to them We
picking them up as fast possible, but it is fatal
to crowd them to such point that would lose
those already in orphanage"
Erivan - that one time prosperous city of
Armenia, not far from Mount Ararat, famous, in
days Of peace for the peach orchards and vegetable
gardens that surrounded it on every side. Walk
through it's streets to-day, and here is what you will
see: children walking through the muddy cutters
hunting for bits of orange peels apple cores or any,
thing that once resenbed food little boys and girls
sleeping in stables, with straw 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 sobbng 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 final chance to their
children's lives. There is always a chance that
they will be rescued by the Americans, and it is
with this one hope that the mothers leave their
little children, praying to God that they will be
saved by the kind and generous Americans
Has that story of unutterabe suffering, Of pas
sionate love and gratitude for what has been given,
that trusting, prayerful appeal for rescue of chill
dren whose lives depend us-has it all
grown wearisome to us? Are we tired Of being
"kind and generous? Is there no longer any sac
rihcial tenderness for little children in hearts?
Is it time to be rid of the burden to stop giving
and so, through the Board of Trustees of the Near
East Relief, sDho must act dictate, to pro-
nounce the sentence of death these thousands
of boys and girls who have believed, to the last
moment, that 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 few paltry miles of distance!
They can not separate you from that famine
stricken land where dead and dying children litter
the city streets. They not shut out from your
vision those -pinched faces and outstretched
hands! You shut your windows they did,
in very desperation, in the City Of Ervan; but the
walls and means of little children, waiting in rain
and snow by day and night, to be picked up" and
clothed and fed not be shut out of your heart.
From far-away stations, by the magic of sci
ence, our homes are being filled with song, and
story, and music for the dance But there are mes
sages 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 music is not for dancing, for those who
make it stand upon their feet. The song,
swelled to chorus Of woe by thousands OF little
voices that ought to be musical with laughter is
always the same: "Hunger!-Bread" And with
the pleading cry of the children, there
voice, sweet and solemn, saying: These MY