“A very little gold,” he replied, “not a penny more than two million Turkish pounds. We had arms from all nations, no more from Russia than from Czecho-Slovakia. It will surprise you to know that most of them were bought from England and Greece.” “But where could you get the money?” I next inquired. “From our Anatolian population. In no other country, would the people have accepted such heavy taxation upon their lands, their cattle, and their corn. No other country has been driven to resist the whole world in defence of her very existence. Our taxes must have reached 75 per cent. So you see that if Europe does not care to help us, we can manage for ourselves, and waste no tears over her in difference.” * * * * * Certain European papers have published a report that Camerad Areloff has been admitted to the Cabinet Councils of New Turkey. When an Ambassador from Angora was asked why her Government did not contradict the obvious falsehood, he retorted: “If any paper, in any country, announced that your British Ambassador was taking part in the Councils of the French Cabinet, would your Government protest?” It was readily acknowledged that we should consider such a statement to be entirely beneath our notice. “Of course you would,” said the Turk; “and we take precisely the same view.” * * * * * When I arrived at the Assembly one afternoon the band was playing in the gardens—a strange accompaniment, I thought, to the serious business of Parliament. I asked one of the deputies whether this was a national holiday, or a day of thanksgiving for the arrival of the ex-Khalif at Malta? It was lucky for me that the rather dangerous little joke only raised a smile, while he explained that, as the Imperial Band had fled from Constantinople with the Nationalists, its loyalty must be acknowledged and its services utilised. It did, in fact, play here for a short time every day. Now I remembered that I had heard bands also in Smyrna and Constantinople. It was graciously suggested that I should choose something myself for the band to play, and I asked that we might have some Turkish music. One of the deputies, it appeared, had written an opera; and after listening with great pleasure to some selections from his work, I was introduced to the composer. The opera, naturally written round the cause, is full of a pathos that brings tears to the eyes of an understanding audience. They also gave me a patriotic love song—the reunion of two lovers (Anatolia and Roumelia) after long years of separation—which I should like to have heard again and brought away with me. Its beauty was haunting, though not quite easy to follow at a first hearing.