I am a
war correspondent only by a great stretch of the imagination;
I am a peace correspondent really, and all the fighting I have
seen was by cannon at long range. (I was at long range, not
the cannon.) I am doing this campaign in a personally
conducted sense with no regard to the Powers or to the London
Times. I did send them an article called "The Piping Times
of War." If they do not use it I shall illustrate it with the
photos I have taken and sell it, for five times the sum they
would give, to the Harpers who are ever with us. As I once
said in a noted work, "Greece, Mrs. Morris, restores all your
lost illusions." For the last week I have been back in the days
of Conrad, the Corsair, and "Oh, Maid of Athens, ere We Part." I
have been riding over wind-swept hills and mountains topped with
snow, and with sheep and goats and wild flowers of every color
spreading for acres, and in a land where every man dresses by
choice like a grand opera brigand, and not only for
photographic purposes. I have been on the move all the time,
chasing in the rear of armies that turn back as soon as I
approach and apologize for disappointing me of a battle, or
riding to the scene of a battle that never comes off, or
hastening to a bombardment that turns out to be an attack on
an empty fort.
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