of the refugees in Greece, the ravage and misery of all surroundings, made a picture which never has passed from my memory. In the first capture by Mustapha Pasha, Lakus was taken by surprise and a flank movement of the Turkish irregulars, the Lakiotes having only time to secure their most valuable and portable goods and bury the church-bell, retiring up the mountain slopes beyond, firing a few shots of defiance as they went. When A'ali Pasha arrived in Crete, he ordered the reconstruction of the church of Lakus, demolished by the Turks at the capture of the village, and the primates were ordered to find the bell. Declining to know its whereabouts, they were thrown into prison, to lie until they did, a few days of which treatment produced the desired effect, and the bell was hung over the reconstructed church. That afternoon notes of compulsory joy sounded from the belfry, and the insurgents from the ridge of Zourba opposite came down to the brink of the ravine to ask who had betrayed the bell. Their submitted townsmen replied by an avowal of the _modus operandi_ of getting at the required knowledge; and the "patriots" replied, "Ring away. We will come and ring it to-night." And agreeably to promise, a band of insurgents came across the ravine at midnight, carried off the bell, and, hanging it on a tree near Zourba, rang the night out. The Turkish guard, which occupied the block-house in the village, scarcely thought it worth while to risk the defence of the bell, if indeed they knew of its danger. At Lakus I had made my plans to breakfast and pass the noon-heat, but I had reckoned without my hosts, for, on "pitching my tent" and sending out my cavass to find a lamb to roast, I found evidence of the inroads of civilization--I could not get one for less than three pounds sterling--about fifteen times the usual price, and a sure attempt at swindle based on my supposed necessities. Fortunately my escort had amply provided themselves, and we had bread and cheese, caviar and coffee, to stay our appetites until we should reach Omalos, where were a garrison and an army butcher. So I ate my modicum of what they gave me, smoked my cigarette, and tried to doze, while the chattering villagers, holding themselves aloof in reminiscent dread of the Moslem, mingled their hum with that of the bees from the hives near us. My "tent" was an ancient mulberry-tree above, and a Persian carpet beneath; and, though I tried to sleep away the time, I did nothing but listen to the story my cavass, Hadji Houssein, was telling his companions of the adventure we had had the year before in the valley below, and which, lest he have not given the true version, I will tell as it happened.