quarrel, as other people's quarrels often are; but it comes to this
that though we are all killed there will be songs again, but if we
were to submit and so survive there could be neither songs nor dreams,
nor any joyous free things any more.

And do not regret the lives that are wasted amongst us, or the work
that the dead would have done, for war is no accident that man's care
could have averted, but is as natural, though not as regular, as the
tides; as well regret the things that the tide has washed away, which
destroys and cleanses and crumbles, and spares the minutest shells.

And now I will write nothing further about our war, but offer you
these books of dreams from Europe as one throws things of value, if
only to oneself, at the last moment out of a burning house.

DUNSANY.





A Tale of London

"Come," said the Sultan to his hasheesh-eater in the very furthest
lands that know Bagdad, "dream to me now of London."

And the hasheesh-eater made a low obeisance and seated himself
cross-legged upon a purple cushion broidered with golden poppies, on
the floor, beside an ivory bowl where the hasheesh was, and having
eaten liberally of the hasheesh blinked seven times and spoke thus: