The celebrated silk factories are not, of course, so picturesque; and the depressing mixture of steam heat, and smell is certainly calculated to make one long for the very latest kind of progressive machinery to replace such unhealthy “human” labour. Here, again, we find Jews and the so-called “Catholics,” have replaced the Greeks; and the proprietors (who are so often Jews) only complain that there are not more hands available. This means, of course, not enough competition; and wages have risen from thirty to sixty piastres a day. For this reason they miss the Greeks and Armenians, although the new men are equally good workers. “We have also to employ Turkish women,” they say. “Are they good?” “No, very bad. They _can_ work, but have never done so, and have no experience. Yet we must pay sixty piastres for their unskilled labour.” “Then you are running the factories at a loss, with these high wages?” I asked. “Oh, no! We ‘make up’ for that by paying the peasants half their old price for the raw silk.” “Do they complain?” “No. We tell them that times are bad; which they understand, and accept.” It is an excellent example of the ease with which almost anyone can make his profit out of the Turk. He is satisfied with so little, and seldom, or never, protests. For years Greeks and Armenians have filled their pockets at his expense. Now we have driven them out of their homes and Jews are quickly filling their place. No wonder they turn on their Christian “protectors,” and resent our “interference.” To them money is the breath of life, and money is more easily made in Turkey than anywhere else in the world. Whatever prosperity these districts have managed to retain largely depends on the silk-making and the tobacco factories. All the Europeans are, naturally, against any attempts to abolish capitulations. “They are not likely to leave us,” say the Turks, “where else would they be granted ‘capitulations’?” The bazaar at Broussa has lost none of its Eastern charm, but prices have gone up by leaps and bounds since I was here ten years ago. They will, probably, soon rise still higher when hand-embroidery dies out before the machine-made imitations. The Central Mosque has been rather disfigured by the over-zealous multiplication of mural texts; but the beautiful fountain preserves the most marked characteristic of all mosques, on which their “appeal” so largely depends. It also contains some very fine specimens of the curious old clocks, which only show Turkish hours. In the courtyard there are more fountains and many pigeons, and the public letter-writer. Just now he is hard at work for a profitable customer who, one might think, surely knew how to conduct his own correspondence. From my experience as an amateur, doing my best for the _Poilus_, I should never imagine that letter-writing could be an easy profession.