As a prison, it is agreeable enough, though the climate strikes one as enervating. The sun shines, even brightly, for the greater part of the year, and sunshine softens the captive’s lot! Had I never visited the island I should have soon learnt to know “the sights,” for in so many homes of Angora, Maltese picture postcards are displayed, almost like holy relics: Valetta, the “Chapel of Bones” (a barbaric idea), the Mahommedan cemetery, the cathedral, and the landing-stage. Everywhere, too, are the fair ladies of Malta, whose head-dresses closely resemble the Turkish tcharchaff. The Angelus had sounded as I first entered the cathedral, to find myself amidst long rows of black-veiled women, reverently kneeling on the cold inlaid-marble floor, their heads bent in prayer, their fingers counting the beads as they recited their rosaries. The native type is dark-skinned, almost Mongolian, but they all speak English. For are they not British subjects, paid in British money, and entitled to our protection? There was talk, indeed, of extending the cover of “Nationalism” to them also; but, personally, I still felt everywhere, and all the time, that calming atmosphere of order, happiness, and prosperity that is brought by the British flag. How is it, then, that we have so consistently failed to quiet the Turkish storms? Of course, every one of the “powers” has been involved, each playing for its own hand, striving to end or prolong the war in its own interests. It is well known that the Turk himself has above all committed one crime—he has kept Constantinople! Bent on a policy of peace (!) we undertook to disarm Turkey; but the mission despatched to Anatolia for this purpose could, or would, not accomplish its task. Then in May, 1919, despite the Mudros Armistice, we allowed the Greeks to occupy Smyrna! In March of the following year, came the English _coup d’état_! The highest personalities—generals, important officials, anyone suspected of sympathy with the Nationalists—were arrested, placed in the hold of a man-of-war, for internment at Malta. All were taken on mere suspicion, thrust into prison without trial! Yet the _naïveté_ of the whole proceeding is almost _more_ puzzling than its high-handed injustice! These dangerous men (!), supposed to be plotting against Great Britain, are all huddled together, and left to their own devices, for two years—and then released! Were we afraid? Did we repent? Will Government never _pursue_ one policy to its logical conclusion? I could but “wonder about” these things as I knelt in prayer. Clouds of incense have filled the cathedral, the Blessed Sacrament is safely returned to the tabernacle, the huge candles are extinguished, and the veiled ladies are reverently leaving the dimly-lighted church. Cannot faith bring peace?